Best 1596 quotes in «heartbreak quotes» category

As if you gave your heart to autumn, for What it destroys never blossoms again

A single heartbreak teaches you more than what a lifetime of schooling can

As much as I would really like to have saved myself heartache, embarrassment or gossip, I also know that my biggest mistakes have turned into my best lessons. And sometimes my greatest career triumphs. If my life had been turbulence-free, maybe my music would be beige, maybe the stadiums wouldn’t be full and the mantle would be a little more empty.

A small temptation can stop a great glory and turn great joy into a great sorrow

A song that wrenches the heart finds a knowing ear and a liking heart.

As the doctors told him, he wanted to scream out loud and cry. He held his heavy head up and clenched his teeth and fists. “Men don’t cry,” his grandpa used to say. “Men don’t cry.” But he cried. Like a baby. He cried till he could feel cracks in his heart as he breathed. He cried till he knew he would never love again.

As time goes by, we start to see more clearly, and are able to see that it wasn’t all bad, and that perhaps just perhaps the breakup was a gift.

A story has to break your heart or it's not worth telling.

At least, when there’s fear, there’s some human part left in you. Once that’s gone, though, there is nothing.

A truly sensual woman almost never gets heartbroken. Why? Because she doesn't attract heartbreakers in the first place, and not that the men she attracts are perfect, but I think the universe seems to value her a little bit too much.

A veces, el dolor es el único recuerdo de que lo que tuvimos fue real.

A Very Short Song Once, when I was young and true, Someone left me sad- Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse. Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse.

A wall of stone was her heart, Kept knocking but never did it part. Mine was a pitiful little thing made of clay, I didn't know that this was a game she loved to play!

A woman cries when her man is down and there is nothing she can do to make him stand up. A woman also cries when she has invested her all only to find out you weren't worth the investment. Both are strong feelings that an insensitive man will never know their depths.

A wounded heart is easier to heal than a broken soul.

Be careful—my heart is broken—and you could fall in

Baby, baby, baby Can't you stay with me tonight Oh baby, baby, baby Don't my kisses please you right You were so hard to find The beautiful ones, they hurt you everytime Paint a perfect picture Bring to life a vision in one's mind The beautiful ones Always smash the picture Always, every time If I told you baby That I was in love with you Oh baby, baby, baby If we got married Would that be cool? You make me so confused The beautiful ones You always seem to lose

Because before the time when you're heartbroken, you get to be in love, and that's worth it.

Because I am in love with you. Because I cannot be around you for fear you will finally see what is written across my heart. Because the pain of you is one I cannot bear

Be careful when your feelings are too strong, when you love someone too much. A heart too full is like a bomb. One day it will explode.

Because I know if I sit down and start to write out how it feels…. it all becomes too real… the pain becomes too much. But that's the weird part because I feel so empty, like there no longer is a heart living where there used to be one, so why am I feeling pain?

Before you grow, you will break.

Because she knew already that this would be the thing that would end them. And that in the deepest part of her, she had known it from the beginning, like someone stubbornly ignoring a weed growing until it blocked out the light.

Because this is love. This is what we've both been through heartbreak for.

Because—truth?—on the scale of significance, that stuff doesn’t even register. What has me pushed past the boiling point...what has me really, really upset is learning the woman I thought was so incredibly strong I married her on the spot...is actually a quitter who runs from challenge, a coward too afraid to even try, a liar who makes promises she won’t keep and a cynic too bitter to believe what’s right in front of her face. Is that real enough for you?

...because there will never be any boy's wrist to tie the balloon of your helium heart to (it has floated high far away from the heavy stone of that unnameable boy in chicago), you would never be with someone and then someone else, and you would definitely never be someone to someone else's else.

Because you let our love just fall apart You no longer have my heart

Being a blesséd writer is a cursed attribute, when you wish to no longer be encompassed by someone and yet you are surrounded by loose leaf papers filled with the sound of his voice.

Behind every lover who stopped believing, there was a lover who did not

Being in a relationship should not feel like being in prison.

be my sonata, my cantata, my love sing me something sweet but not too sweet (or i may grow deaf to our harmony as we decrescendo into silence)

Being with him was like a dream... a dream you don't want to wake from.

Blessed is the woman who has never had anything to love. She can never know the heartbreak that comes with losing it.

Better this way, what remained of his battered sensibilities told him. He was no good for her, anyway. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand that he was cursed. And, selfish as he was, he’d rather she hate him than he hate himself any more than he was already going to. Any more than he already did.

How Heavy the Days. . . How heavy the days are. There's not a fire that can warm me, Not a sun to laugh with me, Everything bare, Everything cold and merciless, And even the beloved, clear Stars look desolately down, Since I learned in my heart that Love can die.

BLANKET On our bed there is a blanket It has been greeted by strangers Become a desert to missiles Filled with hurtful words and jealousy A pitched hillside Where hunched backs lay unmoving I’ve crawled into its darkness Night after night Dove into the wreckage With my lantern Hoping for some light At the end of this silent tunnel I’ve spooned with the grief Sifted through the ashes of our love Been reduced to the seasons Where people watch our bones As they lie down exposed Through our transparent cover Still warm among the cold winds But heavy with self-deception On our bed there is a blanket It has been greeted by strangers Become a desert to missiles Filled with hurtful words and jealousy A pitched hillside Where hunched backs lay unmoving

Book knowledge takes action based on reasons; common sense takes action based on the reason from the reasons!

July 14, 1861 Camp Clark, Washington My very dear Sarah: The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days — perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more… I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing — perfectly willing — to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt… Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field. The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me — perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness… But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights … always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again…

Breathe, Believe and Bounce Back

The Unchanging Sun-swept beaches with a light wind blowing From the immense blue circle of the sea, And the soft thunder where long waves whiten— These were the same for Sappho as for me. Two thousand years—much has gone by forever, Change takes the gods and ships and speech of men— But here on the beaches that time passes over The heart aches now as then.

But even the Gallagher Academy hadn't figured out a way to help us protect our hearts.

[...] but for the first time ever, I finally had it in me and I wanted to live. He had taught me well indeed.

Breaking up is like unsticking your fingers after you've Superglued them. Love's the glue and no matter how slow and carefully you separate, you're going to lose a little bit of yourself in the process. You're also going to retain a little DNA from the one you lost.

... but I could also write about love. How a hand can silence thousands of voices and how someone’s smell can make you feel at home even though you’re a million miles away from home and have you ever hurt someone you love? Because you’re angry. Because you’re disappointed and sad and you just really wanted to love and be loved in return but life got in the way and you both said things that should never be said and you’re angry but don’t know how to. Because you still feel this strange love for him, but you’re also fucking angry and you want to hit him, but then hug him because hurting him is hurting yourself, and then hit him again because you’re angry! and so you fall on your knees because you’re hopeless to yourself and your own emotions and that’s love, my friend.

…breaking the heart of someone you still love is a rare horror, not funny to anyone, except perhaps Satan…and even his pleasure would be spoiled by not having had a hand in it, by the dumb, wasteful accident of the thing. The Devil wants meaning just like the rest of us.

Break open your heart so that I may enter it.

But even if that happens - that doesn’t take away anything that happened before. The present. The fun you’ll have, everything you’ll learn about yourself. Nothing will take that away. So is it worth it? You’re damned right it’s worth it.

But I’m not wearing the appropriate clothes for the occasion. “You’re always more than appropriate.

But I have never been sure that we are all talking about the same thing when we talk about love. Perhaps real love is too boring to talk about. Heartbreak is so much easier to understand that I think we might sometimes employ it as an understudy, a stand-in for the real thing.

But I have made a study of Shadowhunters now, over the past century, and let me tell you that we are more human than most human beings. When our hearts break, they break into shards that cannot be easily fit back together. I envy mundanes their resilience sometimes.