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“THE CLEARLY LABELED I think you’ll find you’re mistaken. My name is clearly written across the front and I recognise the scratch down the side (that happened in high school). This is my heart. You can’t just come here, and take it.”

Quote by pleasefindthis

Book:I Wrote This For You
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I Wrote This For You

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“Sometimes it is when those most traumatic of experiences take place that we have the opportunity to be flooded by that which is called Grace. When the heart is broken, when you are deeply betrayed, when people speak falsely against you, try to find the inner strength not to crack under the injustice and maliciousness of others. Choose not to be filled with rage or despair. Then you are „letting go“ or detaching yourself from this most intimate kind of pain, and a door will open. As the great spiritual teacher Karlfried Graf Dürckheim said: „Open the door and let yourself be found.“ (p. 200)”

HealingGraceLetting GoHeartbreakTransformationSpiritual AwakeningTrauma HealingTheodore J Nottingham
Book:Doorway to Spiritual Awakening: Becoming Partakers of the Divine
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“ولكنه تغير، لم يعد يحبني ، وأنا لا ألومه ... أنا أحترم حرية عواطفه حتى لو كنت ضحيتها ... إن العواطف هي الشيء الوحيد الذي لا يمكن اصطناعه ... إنها نسيج شفاف ينسجه قلب طفل أرعن ، ذي أهواء ، فكيف ألوم طفلا على طفولته ... ولكني أتألم برغم ذلك ، بل أموت ... كل هذا المنطق لا يقنعني ، لا يقنع قلبي ... ولا راحة لي إذا استطعت أن أبتر هذا القلب ، وأعيش بعقلي وحده ، بلا حب ... كم من الأيام ، بل كم من السنين، بل كم من الأجيال أنا في حاجة إليها لأقوم بتلك الجراحة ...”

Heartbreak
Book:الحب والصمت
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“Lucy Gray Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, And when I cross'd the Wild, I chanc'd to see at break of day The solitary Child. No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wild Moor, The sweetest Thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the Fawn at play, The Hare upon the Green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. "To-night will be a stormy night, You to the Town must go, And take a lantern, Child, to light Your Mother thro' the snow." "That, Father! will I gladly do; 'Tis scarcely afternoon— The Minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the Moon." At this the Father rais'd his hook And snapp'd a faggot-band; He plied his work, and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe, With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse, the powd'ry snow That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time, She wander'd up and down, And many a hill did Lucy climb But never reach'd the Town. The wretched Parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At day-break on a hill they stood That overlook'd the Moor; And thence they saw the Bridge of Wood A furlong from their door. And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd "In Heaven we all shall meet!" When in the snow the Mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downward from the steep hill's edge They track'd the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the long stone-wall; And then an open field they cross'd, The marks were still the same; They track'd them on, nor ever lost, And to the Bridge they came. They follow'd from the snowy bank The footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank, And further there were none. Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living Child, That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome Wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.”

HeartbreakBallad
Book:The Works of William Wordsworth
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“We can forgive but we can’t forget. Whoever says otherwise hasn’t known true pain. Hear me out. Hearts are muscles, and muscles have memory. So, of course our hearts can’t forget. They remember what hurts them. They remember so they can grow stronger. I think that’s why we must remember. If we forgot the moment we forgave, we wouldn’t receive the strength that comes from hurting. And something good must come from all the bad. Something. Anything. Even the faintest good.”

HealingHeartbreakForgivenessForgettingRemembering
Book:Dearest Josephine
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