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Heartbroken Quotes

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Heartbroken Quotes

“She averted his eyes, but not before he recognized the pain in them, a tormented and languished gaze, a stare preserved for people who were able to love deeply enough that they could be destroyed by it. For a moment, he knew that gaze intimately, remembering it from a time long gone. The ache of a shattered belief once known. He knew that feeling.”

“...my father, [was] a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee. At worst? He never beat her, but his pure, inarticulate fury would fill the house for days, weeks, at a time, making the air humid, hard to breathe, my father stalking around with his lower jaw jutting out, giving him the look of a wounded, vengeful boxer, grinding his teeth so loud you could hear it across the room ... I'm sure he told himself: 'I never hit her'. I'm sure because of this technicality he never saw himself as an abuser. But he turned our family life into an endless road trip with bad directions and a rage-clenched driver, a vacation that never got a chance to be fun.”

“He started to estrange her... And they became strangers Who knew each other's heart, So broken as they drifted apart.”

“Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet) When I started writing, I had a partner, I had plans to settle in Sofia with her. But then I lost my link to the Balkans, when she grew weary and took the hand of another. I couldn't write a single word for days, but then, I let the god complex unleashed. That's about when my writing skyrocketed, as the heartbreak jolted my brain into a hyper-publishing engine. I had all the time in the world, and enough pain to fuel my pen. Every time I got my heart broken, it benefitted my mission. First time someone broke my heart, I dropped out of engineering and emerged as the Monk Scientist. Second time when I lost my love, Planet Earth received the Poet Apocalypse.”

“Vaishusmriti (The Sonnet) Those few afternoon trips back from uni, With her head on my shoulder, were utopia. My stomach was bursting with butterflies, But my lips could barely utter a word. My shirt got seeped with her intoxicating scent, But her heart was posted to another man's mail. Yet how can you begrudge someone you once loved! It's okay to lose your heart to the wrong people. Hadn't she rejected me, I'd have ended up yet another nobody in the sea of engineers. When life shatters you to a million pieces, Get up and give back life some middle finger. If you must love, love without any agenda, If they love you back, your heart grows softer, If they break you, your heart grows stronger, Either way, in act of love there is no failure.”

“Cardan ought to have been the boy with the heart of stone in Aslog's story, but somehow he had let his heart turn to glass. He could feel the shattered shards of it lodged in his lungs, making his every breath painful. Cardan had trusted Nicasia not to hurt him, which was ridiculous, since he well knew that everyone hurts one another and that the people you loved hurt you the most grievously. Since he was well aware that they both took delight in hurting everyone else that they could, how could he have thought himself safe?”

“Every person has a secret inventory of "things". I call them objects of attachment - things that refuse to be forgotten. Perhaps it's a place, a smell, a business card. Whatever it is, they refuse to go unnoticed. These objects are enchanted, taking us back to another time or another place, where things are very different from the way they are now. They make us nostalgic. Playing back memories like old black and white movies, flickering with shimmer and warmth. They are hard to avoid - popping up when your mind is distracted. And regardless of what you threw away, or donated to charity, that is where you find yourself - staring at the game of Scrabble, wondering exactly how each piece used to fit. While I know my inventory and have studied it well, I often wonder which objects I am attached to. And I find myself hoping that one day you find me, unexpectedly tucked away in the back of your closet, or a messy desk drawer - and remember exactly what we once were.”