Sometimes good things fall apart so better things could fall together.
Sadness flies on the wings of the morning, and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.
This is the true measure of love, When we believe that we alone can love, That no one could ever have loved so before us, And that no one will ever love in the same way after us.
If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.
I took a chance, I took a shot And you may think I’m bullet-proof, but I’m not. You took a swing, I took it hard. And down here from the ground I see who you are
Nobody was perfect. Not even close. And everybody had wrinkles from smiling and squinting and craining their necks. Everybody has marks on their bodies from years of living- a trail of life left on them. Evidence of all the adventures and sleepless nights and practical jokes and heartbreaks that had made them who they are.
Yes, the heart breaks. But, it also heals.
If you want this life to stop breaking your heart, stop giving your heart to this life.
Friendship often ends in love, but love in friendship - never.
The worst pain in the world goes beyond the physical. Even further beyond any other emotional pain one can feel. It is the betrayal of a friend.
Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them.
No one who has ever known what it is to lose faith in a fellow-man whom he has profoundly loved and reverenced, will lightly say that the shock can leave the faith in the Invisible Goodness unshaken. With the sinking of high human trust, the dignity of life sinks too; we cease to believe in our own better self, since that also is part of the common nature which is degraded in our thought; and all the finer impulses of the soul are dulled.
Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.
Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.
To me, the thing that is worse than death is betrayal. You see, I could conceive death, but I could not conceive betrayal.
By unnerving definition, anything that the heart has chosen for its own mysterious reasons it can always unchoose later—again, for its own mysterious reasons.
Desiring another person is perhaps the most risky endeavor of all. As soon as you want somebody—really want him—it is as though you have taken a surgical needle and sutured your happiness to the skin of that person, so that any separation will now cause a lacerating injury.
We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so forlornly unhappy as when we have lost our love object or its love.
Oh, I wouldn't mind, Hazel Grace. It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.
I think you are wrong to want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart.
One can't run in a park without a dog or make angels in the snow without a child and there are things one can't do without a lover, so the loss of the lover is like an amputation and the patient goes into shock.
You can't keep a cool head when you're drowning in love. You just trash around a lot and scream, and wear yourself out.
There is no choice more intensely personal, after all, than whom you choose to marry; that choice tells us, to a large extent, who you are.
There is, after all, a kind of happiness in unhappiness, if it's the right unhappiness.
Saying his name stabbed my heart, like someone had ripped through my carefully stitched up world and exposed the infected, pulsing red tissue that I thought was healing.
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