Heartbreak Quotes - Page 11

It didn’t hurt me. Not “hurt”. Hurt is a four letter word. It’s short, almost cute sounding. Aawwww, did that hurt? No. It didn’t hurt. Destroyed, Obliterated, Desecrated, Annihilated, Demolished, Shattered, or Demoralised maybe… But no. It didn’t hurt me. It didn’t “hurt” me at all.

Heartbroken men are like wild animals, running around with hysteria in their eyes, desperately trying to knock the dents out of their egos. 

You think you can change a guy, that he’ll be different with you, that you’ll finally be the one to tame him… and before you know it, you’re alone in your underwear at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, crying to Adele songs, eating ice cream straight from the gallon, and wondering what the hell is the matter with you that you fell for such a goddamned man-child, after he explicitly warned you not to.

Ah, if everyone was as sensitive as you! There's no girl who hasn't gone through that. And it's all so unimportant!

You know, the heart is meant to be your life support, I was a fool to give her my heart. She affected my life support greatly and I know that I will never be the same without her again.

Did I really want to stay on this road longer, knowing it was only going to end in devastation?

What they had wasn't ordinary, or subject to the ordinary rules of relationships and breakups. They belonged to each other totally, and always would, and that was that. But maybe everyone felt that way? Until the moment they realized they were just like everyone else, and everything they'd thought was real shattered apart.

With even the slightest upset, detachment soon followed. I didn’t lose sleep over men, and I was too restless to be tied down. The grass didn’t even have time to grow around my feet before I was planning my next escape – whether it was to another state or out of someone’s life.

This is one of the great human mysteries: why do works of art about bad things such as loss and deprivation make us feel good?

That's what it felt like - that if I let a little of the hurt out, it would keep pouring out until I was a deflated balloon of a person, with a big monster of hurt in front of me.

They always prided themselves on looking youthful. “Forty’s the new thirty,” they’d joke.Until heartbreak and grief enter your life, and then forty’s the new one hundred.

What Karen wants to do - needs to do - is cry, but she can't. Here, alone, when she could howl, beat the sofa cushions, scream; now, somehow, she is unable. It's for fear that if she gives in to it, she'll lose all sense of who she is. She is afraid that if she falls apart in private, then she'll fall apart completely. That if she crumbles, like a house in an earthquake, she will disappear down some deep, dark crevasse, and never be able to pull herself out and put herself back together again.

Home at last. Why was I not feeling relief? I turn in m bed thinking of the last time that I had laid my head on that pillow. Sadness took over me almost instantly. A pillow soaked in tears, the feeling of someone tearing a part of my chest out, it replayed in my head as if it had happened yesterday. I coculdn't believe that that girl was me. I was so much stronger than that, how had I allowed myself to become so vulnerable? I never thought that I would be the girl who'd get her heart broken. I never thought that he'd be the one to break it. But I was, and I know he did. I know, because, no one will ever know how much I cried that night.

Could he be prosecuted for murder? Cause of death: broken heart. Murder weapon: words laced with bullshit.

Being heartbroken doesn’t mean you stop feeling. Just the opposite — it means you feel it all more. With your heart in fragments, every sensation is sharper, every emotion more acute. Your feelings are enhanced, like a blind man with an impeccable sense of smell, or a deaf woman whose eyes can perceive things a normal person would never recognize. The brokenhearted are the best empaths of all.

There is an ocean of silence between us… and I am drowning in it.

It will hurt and when it does, it will hurt so bad.

But these clouds won’t leaveWalk awayBarely breathingAs I’m lying on the floorTake my heartAs you’re leavingI don’t need it anymore

And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night.Its voice cracks,on your name.My eyes close,on your name.

Do you like me?”No answer.Silence bounced, fell off his tongueand sat between usand clogged my throat.It slaughtered my trust.It tore cigarettes out of my mouth.We exchanged blind words,and I did not cry,I did not beg,but blackness filled my ears,blackness lunged in my heart,and something that had been good,a sort of kindly oxygen,turned into a gas oven.

The picture has no religion, no caste, no name,And the best part about it is that the picture stays the same.

My tattoos, like most people's, were reminders, badges of personal experiences. Yes, I might wear them on my skin for the world to see, but their meaning was a little too personal.

A heart never breaks in the same pattern of pieces

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.

Her next words took me by surprise. I lay as still as I could, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved she would stop speaking her heart.“My mom wanted six children. She only got me, and that sucks for her because I was a total weirdo.”“You were not,” I said.She twisted her head up to look at me.“I used to line my lips in black eyeliner and sit cross-legged on the kitchen table … meditating.”“Not that bad,” I said. “Crying out for attention.”“Okay, when I was twelve I started writing letters to my birth mother because I wanted to be adopted.”I shook my head. “Your childhood sucked, you wanted a new reality.”She snorted air through her nose. “I thought a mermaid lived in my shower drain, and I used to call her Sarah and talk to her.”“Active imagination,” I countered. She was becoming more insistent, her little body wriggling in my grip.“I used to make paper out of dryer lint.”“Nerdy.”“I wanted to be one with nature, so I started boiling grass and drinking it with a little bit of dirt for sugar.”I paused. “Okay, that’s weird.”“Thank you!” she said. Then, she got serious again. “My mom just loved me through all of it.

He wouldn't let his servants change the sheets on his bed because they still smelled like her, because he went to sleep dreaming that she was still lying beside him.

They should tell you when you’re born: have a suitcase heart, be ready to travel.

A story has to break your heart or it's not worth telling.

Some love stories has no end, no path or no name, but they are 'love stories' too.

All my life I have heard the term happiness thrown around like a buzzword as if it is something to be gained. As I have previously expressed, I do not view happiness as a tangible thing. To me happinesss is the elimination of accumulated darkness. Self-sustaining happiness comes from contentment of acceptance, compassion and sympathetic joy, qualities which cannot be developed like a muscle, but rather they must be actualized by the removal of fetters in the mind

The worst feelings are the warm, anxious burning that portends your heart breaking followed by the wave of numbness that asphyxiates your soul.

I found that the only way I could control this sorrow was not to think of [it] at all, which was almost as painful as the loss itself.

As she looks through the window; while seeing him give her his world, tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembers the world she once had.

I took one last look at the man who owned my body and soul for so many years. His face twisted into a mask of sheer devastation. I wanted to reach out and console him, to say everything would work out. It wouldn’t though, not until he put his family before his career.“I never thought our love story had an end,” Luke said faintly.Clicking the door shut, I slid down the wooden frame into a heap on the floor. Sobs racked my body as I echoed the same sentiments in my head. Our love story shouldn’t have had an end. Only a beginning.

He was both everything I could ever want…And nothing I could ever have…

The greatest drawback to true love was that once true love unexpectedly ends there is no other romance that can replace it. Romance instead becomes a race, with one’s new beau consistently failing to meet up to the grand expectations set by the meaning of one’s existence. The only one.

But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.

You know it's love when all you want is that person to be happy even if you're not part of their happiness.

Every quote, every book, every film seemed to suggest that ‘one day’ someone would come into my life and love me with an intensity and a passion I had never experienced before. And to their credit they were right; It all came and went so fast it really did feel as if it were just ‘one day’....

I love being alone when I Know Somebody make you smile.

Well in case you failed to notice,In case you failed to see,This is my heart bleeding before you,This is me down on my kneesThese foolish games are tearing me apartYour thoughtless words are breaking my heartYou're breaking my heart

She'd either be a heartless mother and wife or a spineless enabler, when all she really wanted was the man she'd once believed him to be.

Heartbreak and pain occurs when people love with their heart. It so happens that the heart is not the most vital organ in the body. So when it is 'broken', the body still functions as normal, leaving you alive, but hollow. Next time, love with your brain. So when your lover decides to deceive you, you are not just hollow. You are completely done.

It's clear he still feels something, but what? Is the whole reason he made such a big deal about wanting to talk to me so he could have a chance to apologize? Well, I don't want his apology. You don't get to break someone's heart and think everything is fine just because you say sorry. That's just not fair.

There are things that, when they break, they keep on functioning, just in some other, lesser way. Like an elevator: it breaks, and it's a room. An escalator: it breaks, and it's stairsThe heart is the same.It breaks, and you might not even notice, because you still feel things, you still have emotions.

Please understand. Please forgive me.I prayed every day for you to be alive, until hope became painful.Don't hate me.I still love you.

Love is just like the flower; it has hidden depths that we rarely ever explore. Beneath the surface lies a network of roots. You can admire the flower for what it is, or you can dig deeper. The more you dig, the more you will find. The real reasons we love a person sometimes exist in the darkest and deepest part of us, the part that knows no logic…or rationale.

I said ”I love you so much it’s killing me”and you kept saying sorryso I stopped explainingfor it never made sense to youwhat always did to meto let what you love kill youand never regret. As Romeo is dying Juliet says”I am willing to die to remain by your side”and love was never a static place of restbut the last second of euphoriawhile throwing yourself out from a 20 store windowto be able to say”I flew before I hit the ground”,and it was glorious.Don’t be sorry.The fall was beautiful, dear.The crash was beautiful.

I loved him more than he loved me, and that is a bad place for a woman to be.

Love is only made more valuable by the risk of heartbreak.

I have loved and lost many a time, but along the way I have found myself.

There comes a point where you no longer care if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You’re just sick of the tunnel.

Of all my failures to offset the mortification of wanting, expecting, or caring too much, the most humiliating was having no real answer for the love of a good man. It humbled me.

A broken heart is something even I can’t protect you from. I’ve been alone for so long, and believe me, all that does is provide a false sense of security. Being alone doesn’t erase the deep yearning that exists in all of us. We are not solitary creatures. You have to love and open your heart. If not, what is it we are trying to save? When it swallows you whole, remember it means you’ve lived.

If you stand right at the edge of the night sky, some place where one o’clock leaves to meet two, the breeze will carry your words up to the stars. And they’ll swallow your secrets until its time to hand them over to the truths in the sky- the ones that draw maps in the black. They carve their answers into the backs of my hands, the grooves of the words running deep in my palms.

Sometimes I think my scars are beautiful, but then I remember not everyone shares the same love of art.

The quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love.

One of the most difficult things he'd ever done was turn away and leave her standing in the shadows.

The heart is the only broken instrument that works.

How many hearts must you break in order to fix your own?