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Broken Quotes

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Broken Quotes

“That is just the way with Memory; nothing that she brings to us is complete. She is a willful child; all her toys are broken. I remember tumbling into a huge dust-hole when a very small boy, but I have not the faintest recollection of ever getting out again; and if memory were all we had to trust to, I should be compelled to believe I was there still.”

IfsWayShouldBelieveChildrenStillsRememberMemoriesBoysHugeBrokenHolesDustToysCompelledRecollectionTumbling
Book:Jerome K. Jerome: 14 Books in 1
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“Literature is the noblest of all the arts. Music dies on the air, or at best exists only as a memory; oratory ceases with the effort; the painter's colors fade and the canvas rots; the marble is dragged from its pedestal and is broken into fragments.”

ArtDiesLiteratureMemoriesEffortAirColorBrokenCeasePainterFadesCanvasFragmentsMarblePedestalOratoryArt Music
Book:A Thousand & One Epigrams: Selected from the Writings of Elbert Hubbard
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“When a sudden ray of sun or a moonbeam falls on a dreary street, it makes no difference what it illumines-a broken bottle on the ground, a fading flower in a field, or the flaxen blonde hair of a child's head. The object is transformed and the viewer is transfixed. Celebrate that moment of beauty and take it with you in your memory. It is God's gift to you.”

ChildrenMomentsFallDifferencesMemoriesBeautySunStreetsFieldsObjectsFlowerHairBrokenCelebrateThat MomentBottlesRaysTransformedViewersOur MemoriesBlondeFadingDrearyBlonde HairMoonbeams
Author:Luci Swindoll
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“A lot of my clients say they don't deserve to mope about their sad little memories while children are starving in India. I say that just because your broken arm isn't as serious as someone else's gut wound, that doesn't mean your injury isn't excruciating or doesn't require attention. If you want to help the Indian children, or make the world a better place in any other way, you have to start by becoming whole yourself.”

IfsWorldWayWantMeanChildrenLittlesSelfWholeHelpingMemoriesAttentionSeriousBrokenArmsBecomingDeserveIndiaWoundsIndianInjuryGutsClientsBetter PlaceStarvingBecoming Whole
Book:Finding Your Own North Star: Claiming the Life You Were Meant to Live
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“Speak not, move not, but listen, the sky is full of gold. No ripple on the river, no stir in field or fold, All gleams but naught doth glisten, but the far-off unseen sea. Forget days past, heart broken, put all memory by! No grief on the green hillside, no pity in the sky, Joy that may not be spoken fills mead and flower and tree.”

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Author:William Morris
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“It's funny how insomnia has a way of hauling faded memories up from the cellar of the mind, unearthing buried bits of nostalgia from deep within and spreading the broken, jagged pieces out in front of you like a display of junk at a garage sale. It makes you feel cheap and guilty when you didn't do a thing in the world to kindle the dull burn in your veins or the sting in your eyes. Some nights the painful past unexpectedly pushes up through the floorboards like an ugly nightmarish weed, and by doing so, cultivates and nurtures an entirely new species of headache.”

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Author:Adam Young
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“We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.”

PeopleKnowsSometimesMomentsRememberDiesSocialMemoriesRelationshipChangedBrokenMeetingsStrangerConventionsConvenientOur MemoriesCocktail Parties
Book:Complete Poems and Plays, 1909-1950
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“If she possessed any memory whatsoever of the days when she'd been whole, her shattered recollections were scattered across the darkscape of her mind in fragments so minuscule that she could no more easily piece them together than she could gather from the beach all the tiny chips of broken seashells, worn to polished flakes by ages of relentless tides, and reassemble them into their original architectures.”

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Book:One Door Away from Heaven: A Novel
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“Who was I, really? I was the sole occupant of my mother's totalitarian state, my own personal history rewritten to fit the story she was telling that day. There were so many missing pieces. I was starting to find some of them, working my way upriver, collecting a secret cache of broken memories in a shoebox.”

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Book:White Oleander
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