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Breakup Quotes

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Breakup Quotes

“The harder you slam a ball into the ground, the higher it bounces back up... A divorce, a breakup, losing a job, or just feeling seriously down can ground you, rough you up a bit, leave calluses on your feet and grit under your finger nails. But more than that, it leaves you wiser and stronger next time... Life is about experiencing opposites isn’t it?”

“I raised you so high that every other man on earth is now doomed to live in your shadow.”

“First, we just acknowledge that it is there inside us. If we don’t listen to our own suffering, we won’t understand it, and we won’t have compassion for ourselves. Compassion is the element that helps heal us. Only when we have compassion for ourselves, can we truly listen to another person.”

“It’s difficult for me to imagine the rest of my life without you. But I suppose I don’t have to imagine it... I just have to live it”

“Happiness lacks depth. That is why happy people also lack depth, they have a superficiality about them. Suffering has great depth and it lends its depth to those who suffer. There is a depth in the life of people who go through suffering, there is a depth in their eyes, in their look, in their whole demeanor. Suffering cleanses and chastens you, it gives you a sharpness. Suffering has great depth which is utterly lacking in happiness.”

“A friend told me the story of visiting a Tibetan doctor who specialized in pulses. The doctor asked him a few perfunctory questions and then checked his pulse. "You've gone through a terrible breakup," the doctor said. "Your life isn't going to be the same again." The Tibetan doctor was right: something about the pulse -- its rapidity or dullness -- had provided a clue about the longing and belonging. My friend's breakup, and life, had forever been uprooted.”

“It would be nice to think that as I've got older times have changed, relationships have become more sophisticated, females less cruel, skins thicker, reactions sharper, instincts more developed. But there still seems to be an element of that evening in everything that happened to me since; all my other romantic stories seem to be a scrambled version of that first one. Of course, I have never had to take that long walk again, and my ears have not burned with quite the same fury, and I have never had to count the packs of cheap cigarettes in order to avoid mocking eyes and floods of tears... not really, not actually, not as such. It just feels that way, sometimes.”

“My heart got cuts and wounds as you broke my heart, So why don’t just kill me instead? I don’t care if my heartbeat becomes slow, Or it will blow off, it doesn’t matter to me! Or get burnt or got freeze! I loved you as flower but you in return gave me thorns, This mean you were a thorn not a flower, The fault is in my eyes or the fault is am a lover, Heart thinks that world is bad but you itself was bad, Now your neither mine nor I am yours, There is no love and nothing to ignite the life, It is our destiny to remain alone, Now no more relations I am disappointed with my heart, That may be my love was not enough! So let us remain apart and may heart be on leave!”

“Your smile and your laughter lit my whole world.”

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

“You feel lonely and see it as a void, a painful emptiness that must be filled by another person. When a man appears, you push him into that void to stop the horrible feeling. This is the 'clinging.' It is a frantic attempt to use another person as insulation against yourself. I felt that same void. But I learned to see it not as an absence, but as a space. An empty room. And I understood that my life's primary task was not to find someone to move into that room with me, but to furnish it myself.”

“Though it’s reasons to burn may vary... you are always the fuel of my fire.”

“Lembro-me de que comprei, por esses dias, uma camisola castanha, de lã, e de que pensei então: «A quem falarei agora de todas as coisas sem importância?» A solidão é uma sôfrega evidência, alimenta-se de pequenos materiais, de circusntâncias e de passagens, devorando a vida por onde ela é mais óbvia: por dentro. Assim morremos os dois, tu e eu. Como poderíamos nós, ao telefone, saber que falávamos já, distantemente, de dois estranhos?”

“They either come back or they don’t. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you learn. As you go through mundane days with so much of pain beating in your chest that you feel it will explode. You strike days off your calendar, waiting, going for a run, picking up a new hobby, while trying to numb that part of your brain that refuses to forget the little details of your skin. Soon, you start sleeping in the middle of the bed, learn how to get through the evenings alone, go to cafes and cities alone, you learn how to cook enough dinner for yourself and just make do without the kisses on your neck. You learn…Adjust..Accept.. The tumor of pain already exploded one lonely night when you played his voice recording by mistake.. by mistake.. But you didn’t die.. Did you? They either come back.. or they don’t.. You survive..”

“The only real reason that some relationships and marriages have not yet been ended is because in each case one of the partners has not yet found their ideal partner or someone they love or at least like.”

“The Universe is made of hands; Hands that twist fabric and sizzle in the air. Hands that grasp curls and flick words away Small, smooth fingers pouring gold over gaping wounds Before slicing into soft tissue, Blood mixing with gold. Hands that make it beautiful. The Universe is made of bones; Bones that cut against yards of skin, Warm and yielding and moulded around the wings that splay across his back. Bones that cage the heart and dig into the hollows. Bones that break, Tear the warm, yielding skin. Bones that shred and brush his chin. The Universe is made of lips; Lips that breathe and stutter warm sighs, Caressing the cracks in his broken body, the body that he broke. Lips that carve paths into stone, That leave trails upon gooseflesh, Lips that make incisions, Too delicate to mend. The Universe is made of blood; Blood that runs warm and hot and steady and crimson, Pumping beneath the stone and the gold. Blood that burns with every jerk of limbs. Blood that spills on open palms, Staining the fabric, Filling up his throat. The Universe is made of eyes; Eyes that breach and eyes that splice and eyes that never leave. Eyes that ripple oceans. Eyes that whisper in the dark. Eyes that rip open the seams. Eyes that create wounds, create chaos, create broken shards of blue. Eyes that alight and won’t let go. The Universe was built. The Universe fell. You took it apart, Dragged the chaos from my soul with your hands, Your bones, Your lips, Your blood, Your eyes. And now you’re back. And so is the Universe. And so, I suppose, am I. The Universe is made of five things. The Universe is made of you.”

“So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us—that’s snatched right out of our hands—even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.”