shattered

The beauty of being shattered is how the shards become our character and our marks of distinction. This is how we are refined by our pain. When the storm rips you to pieces, you get to decide how to put yourself back together again. The storm gives us the gift of our defining choices. You will be a different person after the storm, because the storm will heal you from your perfection. People who stay perfect and unblemished never really get to live fully or deeply. You will not be the same after the storms of life; you will be stronger, wiser and more alive than ever before!

It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

You shattered the remainder of my heart, yet you expect me to be okay with it day after day.

When one's life has been shattered into a million pieces, most set out to pick up the pieces & rebuild. Others look at those broken pieces & decide this is their opportunity to start anew, the bigger picture comes into view. They see more, & want better so they leave those pieces scattered as a memorial to who they used to be!

Seriously, how many times can a person break before the only things left are shattered fragments too small to piece back together?

...Here lie your hopes and dreams, shattered and swept aside...

Tell them about how you're never really a whole person if you remain silent, because there's always that one little piece inside you that wants to be spoken out, and if you keep ignoring it, it gets madder and madder and hotter and hotter, and if you don't speak it out one day it will just up and punch you in the mouth from the inside.

She felt as if the mosaic she had been assembling out of life's little shards got dumped to the ground, and there was no way to put it back together.

Even though on the outside we glittered like gold, inside we were almost as black as coal. Sometimes the glitter people saw was only the shattered pieces reflecting among the broken glass.

This planet is a broken bone that didn__ set right, a hundred pieces of crystal glued together. We__e been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we__e supposed to. But it__ a lie, it__ all a lie.

A lame creature, a cripple like myself, has no right to love. How should I, broken, shattered being that I am, be anything but a burden to you, when to myself I am an object of disgust, of loathing. A creature such as I, I know, has no right to love, and certainly no right to be loved. It is for such a creature to creep away into a corner and die and cease to make other people's lives a burden with her presence.

I, on the other hand, felt as I always have, like I were water seeping from a broken pot; I existed but had no form to hold me in place.

We've been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we're supposed to. But it's a lie, it's all a lie; every person, place, thing and idea is a lie. I do not function properly. I am nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe.

She was so shattered about what kind of man he was -- brutal, tender, passionate. There was little doubt he had some mental disorder.