Quotes About A Broken Soul Novels & Stories

Broken shards of glass lay scattered on the floor, mirroring the shattered pieces of her heart. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting a silvery glow upon the chaos. Aria's eyes fixated on the fragmented reflection, the cracks becoming symbolic of the pain and confusion consuming her. She closed her eyes, a quote she had once read resurfacing in her mind. "Don't tell me the moon is shining. Show me a glint of light on broken glass."

Mine does too, But I learnt to smile, Against all odds. Heartbreak, Trauma, Depression, They made a home in me, Did they try same with you too? You're the kind of broken, That people far and wide, Would one day come to watch. Your scars would be beautiful, It'll shine for all to see. You're a different kind of beautiful, You're broken beautiful. A masterpiece, Most times isn't perfect. It's the flaws, That creates art. Be proud of yourself,

Everyone of us is broken in one way or the other. We just find a way, a thing or a person that glues us together. And sometimes, we don’t even find that so we learn to live with our broken parts and wait for that day when they will stop hurting. ~ A. Gupta Violet

"I was talking to one of my kin… An old friend and an oath breaker. He attempted the sin. This one was just one of the million fragments of his floating consciousness that took over this human. He told me he is in pain and was asking for my help. He wanted me to kill him and free him from the agony." "H...He broke the Soul-Bond?" Creed gulped a mouthful of saliva. "Yeah! He did. This human had already lost his sanity long before he took over this human's body. You can say he was brain dead and was ultimately possessed by him. When a soul bond is broken, consciousness does not fade away even after the body dies. Universe perpetuates every oath breaker's consciousness. It continues to drift, b

Monique "I'm not broken," I said quietly, the words escaping my lips like a confession I wasn’t sure I believed. I wanted to... God, I wanted to. Because what is a broken person, really? Is it someone who cries at night and hides it in the morning? Someone who gives their heart to someone and watches them shatter it without warning? If so, maybe I was broken. But I didn’t want to be. “I know you’re not,” Marcus said gently, his voice solid and sure.

"I'm serious. You're avoiding. The grief. The guilt. The complicated feelings about Dante. You're just hitting things and hoping it resolves itself." "It's working so far." "Is it?" Ghost challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, you look hollowed out. Like you're running on fumes. Like one more thing might.." "Might what? Break me?" I stopped hitting. "I'm already broken. My brother's dead. My family's dead. The man I love let them die. I'm..." My voice cracked. "I'm so broken I don't know how to be whole anymore." "Then don't be whole." Ghost's voice was gentle. "Be broken. Be..pieces. And let the people who care about you help..hold those pieces together. Until you're ready to..to sta

“Look! I’ve been there but best believe how you react to it is all that matters. The best thing you could do is to chill out and relive your mind” She didn’t say anything so he went on. “I broke up with my girl a couple of months ago. Apparently I wasn’t man enough for her. I couldn’t give her the life she wanted. I’m broke. Still I’m. She called me a powerless worm. This is someone with whom I invested 5 years with” Zara continued crying. She poured the remnant from the Hennessy into a glass from the counter gave him to drink. “To broken hearts, broken glasses and other broken things” she said as they clinked their glasses together in desolation.

Everything seemed to come back to my mind again. I don’t know what I should do. I’m confused, scared with what I might learn. I’m scared that what I’m about to learn will break me more into pieces. I don’t want this anymore. I’m fed up of being weak and how I always need to fix my broken self. If only… If only he loves me… I’ll be able to at least accept everything.

Like I was reciting a script I’d been forced to learn. But I said them anyway. Because he’d told me not to break. Because that was the only thing I had left that still felt like mine—whether I followed through or not. My weight shifted, uneven and careful, as I tested my balance. The room swayed slightly, exhaustion pulling at me like chains, but I stayed standing. Barely. Just enough to keep from sinking back down and letting the pain win. “I won’t break,” I repeated, quieter this time, my voice steadier than I felt. “Even if I already feel shattered.”

I told him about my brother, about my mother, about the guilt I still carried, about the nights I had spent crying myself to sleep. "We're both broken," he said, his hand in mine. "Maybe. But maybe broken things can be fixed. Maybe broken things can be made whole again." "Or maybe they can be loved despite the cracks. Maybe the cracks are what make them beautiful." I looked at him, at the man who had broken my heart and put it back together more times than I could count, at the man who had seen me at my worst and stayed. "I like that better. I like that a lot."