Best 149 quotes in «heartbreaking quotes» category

My Zoe. “You did right,” I tell her. “You’re better than I could ever be, you know that? ’Cause you do the right thing.” “You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re an angel. And you know—” I make a grasping, chesty sound. “You know fucking everything and … everything, about me. And you still love me, don’t you?” She nods. Then she flings herself into my lap. “I’m sorry,” she chokes. “You want to save me. Bad as I want to save you. I know about that.” - Will

Now mine eyes see the heart that once we did search for, and I fear this heart shall be mended, nevermore.

One truth that has helped me accept some of the most difficult moments and heartbreaking decisions in my life is that I already have all for which I ask. I am blessed! I am delivered from my worries!

Por favor, Dios, por favor me quedaré con el dolor, sólo no me lleves. No quiero morir. No me separes de Harper y de nuestro bebé…

Push yourself. Don’t Settle. Just live well. Just LIVE. Love, Will

Sam: I wanted to answer, but I was broken.

River smiled sweetly at his tormentors and told them, "If you want to kick my ass, go ahead. Just explain to me why you're doing it." After a confused pause, one of the skinheads said, "Ah, you wouldn't be worth it." "We're all worth it, man," River said with a beatific smile. "We're all worth millions of planets and stars and galaxies and universes.

She felt him shifting himself under her and around her, rearranging himself, until she was being held in a real embrace. She opened blurring eyes to find that he had tucked her between his forelegs with his neck curled around her. "Shhh-" he said, as she closed her eyes and threw her arms around his warm, soft, slippery neck. "I know, I know. It's all horrible. Just go ahead and cry, Andie. Go ahead and let it out. I think you've been holding it in too long." She couldn't have stopped the flood now if she'd wanted to, and she really didn't want to. He was right. She'd been holding it in too long. She sobbed against his neck, eyes streaming and burning, throat raw and sore, chest aching. She babbled between the sobs, nothing really coherent, but just- She'd wanted a mother. She'd wanted to make Cassiopeia proud of her so that she'd 'be' that mother. Show her that even her if her daughter wasn't like 'her,' she was still worth something. Was useful. Could stand at the Queen's side and- That was all she wanted. And her mother found her so unworthy that Cassiopeia threw her away to feed a monster, like so much offal. "Oh, Andie," Peri sighed in her ear. "Oh, my poor girl. It's Cassiopeia that's unworthy of 'you.

She found it easier to forgive than Ove did. Forgive God and the universe and everything. Ove got angry instead. Maybe because he felt someone had to be angry on her behalf, when everything that was evil seemed to assail the only person he'd ever met who didn't deserve it.

The lines of her face, turned up to the sky, would have broken your heart.

She’s got this dreamy look going—her everything’s-right-with-the-world-why-isn’t-it-right-with-you-Tally? face. It’s such a carryover from high school that I almost laugh.

So I can’t explain why, for the next twenty minutes, I stand at the window quietly willing him with my mind to come inside and erase the distance between us.

Tell me you love me Emma. Even if you don't mean it." -Julian Blackthorn

The first one is always the hardest.

She liked this. Liked the closeness. With lover’s she’d taken in the past, things had been short and sweet. She certainly hadn’t stuck about to snuggle in case they started to get ideas, not after the first time. Killing a guy you’d fucked was one thing, but to kill one you’d snuggled with damn near broke a girl’s heart

She smirks."Are you attempting to stop me, little one?" "Excuse me? Did you just call me 'little one'? What are you? Like, four feet tall?" I ask.

She wears it so beautifully doesn’t she, her pain… Always smiling, always positive…. always happy to help… It’s like a garment perfectly tailored to fit the way she carries it… with a touch of grace… and the quietness of that sad smile…. All so you’d never know how heavy it really was.

Taking Halia's hand into his, Luka rubbed it nervously before speaking, "You said fire was wild with colour, that it grows quickly, needing to be stopped... That it's destructive, dangerous, and beautiful at the same time. Which made me realise, we are the fire." Halia pulled her hand away from him with her response, "If only you'd understood the fire. It was a spark that you ignited but you chose to burn me instead.

The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful mage alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me. That Simon Snow is alive. And I'm hopelessly in love with him.

The missing remained missing and the portraits couldn't change that. But when Akhmed slid the finished portrait across the desk and the family saw the shape of that beloved nose, the air would flee the room, replaced by the miracle of recognition as mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, and cousin found in that nose the son, brother, nephew, and cousin that had been, would have been, could have been, and they might race after the possibility like cartoon characters dashing off a cliff, held by the certainty of the road until they looked down -- and plummeted is the word used by the youngest brother who, at the age of sixteen, is tired of being the youngest and hopes his older brother will return for many reasons, not least so he will marry and have a child and the youngest brother will no longer be youngest; that youngest brother, the one who has nothing to say about the nose because he remembers his older brother's nose and doesn't need the nose to mean what his parents need it to mean, is the one who six months later would be disappeared in the back of a truck, as his older brother was, who would know the Landfill through his blindfold and gag by the rich scent of clay, as his older brother had known, whose fingers would be wound with the electrical wires that had welded to his older brother's bones, who would stand above a mass grave his brother had dug and would fall in it as his older brother had, though taking six more minutes and four more bullets to die, would be buried an arm's length of dirt above his brother and whose bones would find over time those of his older brother, and so, at that indeterminate point in the future, answer his mother's prayer that her boys find each other, wherever they go; that younger brother would have a smile on his face and the silliest thought in his skull a minute before the first bullet would break it, thinking of how that day six months earlier, when they all went to have his older brother's portrait made, he should have had his made, too, because now his parents would have to make another trip, and he hoped they would, hoped they would because even if he knew his older brother's nose, he hadn't been prepared to see it, and seeing that nose, there, on the page, the density of loss it engendered, the unbelievable ache of loving and not having surrounded him, strong enough to toss him, as his brother had, into the summer lake, but there was nothing but air, and he'd believed that plummet was as close as they would ever come again, and with the first gunshot one brother fell within arms' reach of the other, and with the fifth shot the blindfold dissolved and the light it blocked became forever, and on the kitchen wall of his parents' house his portrait hangs within arm's reach of his older brother's, and his mother spends whole afternoons staring at them, praying that they find each other, wherever they go.

Then I’m suddenly reminded of how I get engulfed with nightmares of Mom’s death as soon as I fall asleep. Hesitantly, I call to him, “Hey, Adrian?” “Yeah?” “Can you hold my hand the entire night?” My voice comes out as a quiet whisper. There’s a pause. I’m almost afraid to meet his eyes. Heartbeat picking up faster, his fingers interweave with mine and lace them together. I turn almost reflexively and I’m faced with his eyes—burning so green that it’s hard to look away. And for a second—one second, there is this feeling that flits in my chest, making my breath catch. Then his eyes close and I blink slowly—feeling as I’m in a dream-like trance. Then mine slide close too after a while of memorizing this moment, this moment of silent peacefulness. The gentle pressure of his hand holding mine coaxes me into sleep. This time, there’s only a soothing blankness. And we sleep just like that; backs curved together, my head folded in his chest. As we hold hands, I fall into the awaiting darkness.

There comes a point where you no longer care if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You’re just sick of the tunnel.

Then tell me Mark, how can I do it? How do I watch her life fade everyday but not hurt? How do I continue to breath, when I know she takes one less breath everyday? Why Mark, Why is this happening to someone so precious?

The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn't find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller. The storyteller didn't exist anymore.

The steel door of the incinerator went up and the muted hum of the eternal fire became a red roaring. The heat lunged out at them like a famished beast. Then Rahel's Ammu was fed to it. Her hair, her skin, her smile. Her voice. They way she used Kipling to love her children before putting them to bed: We be of one blood, though and I. Her goodnight kiss. The way she held their faces steady with one hand (squashed-cheeked, fish-mouthed) while she parted and combed their hair with the other. The way she held knickers out for Rahel to climb into. Left leg, right leg. All this was fed to the beast, and it was satisfied. She was their Ammu and their Baba and she had loved them Double.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than to see the woman you love, the one woman you would do anything to protect, is the woman who is afraid of you. It broke his heart.

Today, I know what death is. Why do I know what death is, Kaladin?

They slept huddled together in the rank quilts in the dark and the cold. He held the boy close to him. So thin. My heart, he said. My heart.

The worst feelings are the warm, anxious burning that portends your heart breaking followed by the wave of numbness that asphyxiates your soul.

Tonight they granted at least one wish,” I whispered, and I lowered my head so our lips drifted over one another. “I love you Adam, no matter how lost you are…or I am…I will only ever love you.

We were young together in the worst way.

We don't get to choose if we get hurt in this world, old man, but we do have a say in who hurts us. I know I like my choices. I hope she likes hers. I do, Augustus. I do.

What's suffering?

What you are to me is the guy that I’ve been madly in love with since sixth grade. You’re the guy I think about every night when I’m in bed by myself. You’re the one who doesn’t want me but insists on keeping me tied so close that I can’t have anyone else, who keeps one hand on my collar and the other hand up his girlfriend’s skirt. And I can’t do it anymore!” ~ Jordy

Who said 'please' that made you hate the word so much?" Andrew gazed at him in silence for a minute. "I did.

When a heart breaks a substance spills out like cement and pours through the bloodstream, hardening everything. In time, I know my heart will mend and the rock inside will crack and crumble away. But for now I’m as solid as a column. And alone I stand.

When Cash woke up, he knew immediately something was wrong. Even without looking, he knew; Harper was gone, and the space she’d left in the bed ached like a missing limb.

When I looked at him, I understood, for the first time since Jacob died, what people meant when they said someone was heartbreaking, that something could break your heart. I had always thought it mawkish, but in that moment I realized that it might have been mawkish, but it was also true. And that, I suppose, was when I knew.

When one is being driven to the edge, we either fight back or jump

When your girlfriend broke your heart, don't even say a word, just smile because she gives you the opportunity to find someone better than her.

Why lie?

You and I are enough to break anyone's heart—how can we not break our own?

With snow came the kites, once the rulers of Kabul's winter skies, now timid trespassers in territory claimed by streaking rockets and fighter jets.

Yet she lays out this family plan the way you’d say, “After yoga, I’ll go to Lia’s for the mani-special and then wax on about hairstyles and hemlines until dinner.” If I were gifted at making long-term plans, which by now we all know I’m not, and if I was at all hopeful, which we all know that I can never be, although it crosses my mind that it’s entirely possible these are all just huge, f*&king, temporary setbacks and nothing more, even though it’s been going on for over three years now, since Holly died, and I met Lincoln Presley. Events that could be construed as somehow inevitably related. Yes, perhaps there’s an expiration date on the said pursuit of unhappiness. Perhaps, things will eventually go my way after I actually discover what that way is supposed to be.

A Complicated Kindness is just that: funny and strange, spellbinding and heartbreaking, this novel is a complicated kindness from a terrifically talented writer.

You don’t live because of me. You live because you let me love you. You made the choice to breathe all on your own . . . I just helped you find the strength to inhale

You'll always be my girl. You were from the first moment I saw you. You were sitting in church with your brothers. You were eight years old, and I was twelve, and I thought, I hope she waits for me. Lucia, I'll wait forever if I have to.

You will search for me in another but you'll never find me in them.

You don’t get to tell the person how much they’ve influenced you. You don’t get to tell them how much you appreciate what they have done for you. You don’t get to tell them how much you love them and will miss them. When you don’t get the chance to say goodbye, you don’t get the chance to say thank you. Everyone deserves a thank you and goodbye.

You made me feel worthwhile…. like for once it mattered if I was here or not because I actually meant something to someone…. because I meant something to you. I miss that feeling.