Best 1596 quotes in «heartbreak quotes» category

Greatness is not in being unbroken, but in being a blessing even after being broken, like bread, like a seed that dies yet rises again.

Grief was messy. It didn’t have the elegance of longing, the poetry of heartbreak; its wholeness made it solid, its certainty made it base.

Guy’s don't usually cry, but when they do, nobody can realize that what they have been going through.

Guys can smell desperation. It triggers an instinct in them to run far and fast so they aren't around when a woman starts peeling apart her heart. They know she'll ask for help in putting it back together the right way - intact and beating correctly - and they dread the thought of puzzling over layers that they can't understand, let alone rebuild. They'd rather just not get blood on their hands. But sharks are different. They smell the blood of desperation and circle in. They whisper into a girl's ear, "I'll make it better. I'll make you forget all about your pain." Sharks do this by eating your heart, but they never mention this beforehand. That is the thing about sharks.

Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met -- or never parted -- we had ne'er been broken-hearted

Hands that never touch. Lips that never meet. The Almost Lovers, never to be.

Happiness is a frightening state of being. If we let ourselves be happy, then there is something that can always be taken from us. In one minute, one second, everything can change.

Hart caressed the letters of baby Graham’s name. “Mac likes to say, We’re Mackenzies. We break what we touch. But this little Mackenzie… he broke me.

Have you noticed ... that he actually hadn't made any promises to you?

Have you ever loved someone so much that even when they chip pieces away from you, you still try to give them what’s left? I know I have… I know I do.

Having rebound sex to cure a heartbreak is like drinking alcohol to cure a hangover.

Heartbreak and pain occurs when people love with their heart. It so happens that the heart is not the most vital organ in the body. So when it is 'broken', the body still functions as normal, leaving you alive, but hollow. Next time, love with your brain. So when your lover decides to deceive you, you are not just hollow. You are completely done.

Heartbreak comes in many forms: infidelity, lies, or a simple, old fashioned break-up. But, there's another reason no one ever thinks about when it comes to heartbreak. It's something that outweighs the fear of being alone, and tells the brokenhearted individual that he or she will never find love again.

Heartbreak doesn't flow through the heart but along that frail shallow canal of the sternum.

Heartbreak is stupid and impossible. Hearts don't break. Hearts squeeze, they wrench, they ache, they shrivel. Hearts pull apart in wet chunks like canned tomatoes.

Heartbreak was a bitch.

Heartbroken? Channelize your sorrow to become worthy of love. The world will be yours.

Heart stop aching, mind stop thinking.

Heart; I named my lass sweetly; She danced to the mundane tunes of daftness; By nature she was midsummer madness; Or rather a reckless, careless, devil-may-care colleen. I pampered all her hefty desires; Brain; my friend said treat her with caution; For she is a child; doesn’t ruminate her action; You are mother, with deep devotion. And one fine day came the tempest darling; She named him love, besotted and infatuated; Enchanted by his charms, smelled the roses; Failed to see the thorns that pricked. And drip-drip-drip, the blood it dripped; When her beloved tossed and crushed her core; She knew not how to stand up straight; I opened my eyes and the driblets fell. Don’t nurse her; said my friend; my brain; For she is a demented lass not worth the pain; She will go away when her wounds are dried; To her unmoved brutal hero, Love. A mother cannot be unmoved, I cried; For all this time, I held her high; I knocked at your door, you flinty villain; Not to hear, all that you said. Call me a demon or a dragon; For all I will say is don’t nurse the brat; Let her bleed and cry for some more time; She will get up; for she is your child. All he said was unerred truth; She bled and nursed her own wounds; She drove me to her hero’s place; And said, “This is where my poem stays.

He could not fit in my imagination and I was not fit for his Real and the conflict between imagination and real sadly made us apart

He counts as an ex because he made me feel dumped even without making me feel loved first.

He damaged her wings and demanded her to fly.

He felt something trickle down his face and he wiped it away irritably. When he looked at the back of his hand, he found trails of red. He had never cried in his life; in fact, he could not cry with no tear ducts. But now, at last, he was. He was crying tears of blood. For her.

He left me millions of time, but I am holding him with every breath with same madness

He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

He locks the door, stares down at the floor; she lies on the sofa, stares at the ceiling. They don't know if they have anything to say to each other anymore. Everything has a breaking point, and even though people always say that "a joy shared is a joy doubled," we seem to insist on believing that the opposite is true of sorrow. Perhaps that isn't actually the case. Two drowning people with lead weights around their ankles may not be each other's salvation; if they hold hands, they'll just sink twice as fast. In the end the weight of carrying each other's broken hearts becomes unbearable.

He looked at me intently, from what seemed behind the veil of a grave experience. Then slowly and prophetically, he said the scariest thing I'd ever heard: "Because the answer to a heartfelt question, Jack, will always break your heart.

He made me feel less lonely tonight by letting me into his world, and I found that I really liked being there. I wasn't ready to go back to my own.

Here are the things I want for you - I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope to never fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will. Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. - I want you to know that most of all.

Her next words took me by surprise. I lay as still as I could, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved she would stop speaking her heart. “My mom wanted six children. She only got me, and that sucks for her because I was a total weirdo.” “You were not,” I said. She twisted her head up to look at me. “I used to line my lips in black eyeliner and sit cross-legged on the kitchen table … meditating.” “Not that bad,” I said. “Crying out for attention.” “Okay, when I was twelve I started writing letters to my birth mother because I wanted to be adopted.” I shook my head. “Your childhood sucked, you wanted a new reality.” She snorted air through her nose. “I thought a mermaid lived in my shower drain, and I used to call her Sarah and talk to her.” “Active imagination,” I countered. She was becoming more insistent, her little body wriggling in my grip. “I used to make paper out of dryer lint.” “Nerdy.” “I wanted to be one with nature, so I started boiling grass and drinking it with a little bit of dirt for sugar.” I paused. “Okay, that’s weird.” “Thank you!” she said. Then, she got serious again. “My mom just loved me through all of it.

her grass seemed greener until a drought came and cracked the earth beneath you.

Her heart is smashed glass. Peer into her jagged edges to see what refracts from the light of her past. Kaleidoscopic beauty.

He said he loved more than any other women he's ever loved and I had a black eye to prove it.

He stood frozen, staring at me as if he didn’t know how to do anything else. I couldn’t focus; it was like all the world’s blue had originated from his eyes. It was all there, the color of midnight, the sky, the ocean, and blue raspberry lollipops. Why had I spent so much time pretending they weren’t remarkable?

He's the kind of guy who might not have an expiration date. Who I could fall for so completely that I might as well put my heart in a blender right now because it would hurt less. Who I could want with the kind of passion that makes you forget important things like the promises you make to yourself.

He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.

He was the spark, twinkle and gleam of the stars and she was merely the dark night sky behind that allowed him to shine in contrast. She was stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

He was the hunter of my soul, lying in wait - silently and motionless. Coaxing me out of hiding, Enticing me with love, Dangling hope in my face. Pulling me in, drawing me close. I gave in and walked into his trap. He did a good job too, tearing me apart and ripping my heart out. He was the hunter and I, the game. How could I forget that a hunter's job is to kill?

He wondered what his heart would look like if he could pluck it from his chest and inspect it.

He would place his mouth, still full of sleep, on hers, and perhaps pull her back into the bedroom and down into the bed with him, into that liquid pool of flesh, his mouth sliding over her, furry pleasure, the covers closing over them as they sank into weightlessness. But he hadn't done that for some time. He had been waking earlier and earlier; she, on the other hand, had been having trouble getting out of bed. She was losing that compulsion, that joy, whatever had nagged her out into the cold morning air, driven her to fill all those notebooks, all those printed pages. Instead, she would roll herself up in the blankets after Bernie got up, tucking in all the corners, muffling herself in wool. She had begun to have the feeling that nothing was waiting for her outside the bed's edge. No emptiness but nothing, the zero with legs in the arithmetic book. 'I'm off,' he'd say to her groggy bundled back. She'd be awake enough to hear this; then she would lapse back into a humid sleep. His absence was one more reason for not getting up.

Hey, it’s nice of you to show up!” That was a decent start. “What has it been—a year since you flattened my heart by leaving without a word and ignoring all of my texts, messages, and voicemails?

His eyes sparkled again, and in that instant I felt a strong urge to get up and leave him behind. I had been wrong to think what Sean and I had was special. He wasn’t ‘the one’. He couldn’t be. ‘The one’ would never leave me behind.

His mother's words faded to myth, concocted by a gentle soul to delight the imagination of a boy. Until one day, they were no longer a myth. One day, he would wish he had never heard them at all because they spelled his happiness--and his eternal sorrow.

Home at last. Why was I not feeling relief? I turn in m bed thinking of the last time that I had laid my head on that pillow. Sadness took over me almost instantly. A pillow soaked in tears, the feeling of someone tearing a part of my chest out, it replayed in my head as if it had happened yesterday. I coculdn't believe that that girl was me. I was so much stronger than that, how had I allowed myself to become so vulnerable? I never thought that I would be the girl who'd get her heart broken. I never thought that he'd be the one to break it. But I was, and I know he did. I know, because, no one will ever know how much I cried that night.

Honesty is nothing more than a party trick, and you know how much I love to dance.

Hope is the easiest thing that turn into dust.

How can so many things become a bore by middle age — philosophy, radicalism, and other fast foods — but heartbreak keeps its sting?

How comforting to witness a fictional person (who is also, miraculously, ourselves as we read) suffering the same agonies of a saccharine dismissal and, importantly, surviving.

How come they get to be gray-haired and still in love with each other, while Lilly tears out what's left of my heart and dumps it into her Jill-The-Ripper shredder?

How do you love someone and just… walk away? Just like that. You just, go on as normal…. You get up, get dressed, go to work… How can you do that? How can you be okay with that?