Frederica Mathewes-Green Quotes

The most tremendous judgment of God in this world is the hardening of the hearts of men.

There is "a mental fatigue which is a spurious kind of remorse, and has all the anguish of the nobler feeling. It is an utter weariness and prostration of spirit, a sickness of heart and mind, a bitter longing to lie down and die.

We're all damaged somehow."-A Great and Terrible Beauty

I have never really thought of him as a person, either.... A guy whose strings were broken, who didn’t feel the root of his leaves of grass connected to the field, a guy who was cracked. Like me.

The burden of the incommunicable.

He wanted to tell her that everything he had done he had done because he was broken, because watching her die had destroyed him, but there was no way to say it that didn’t sound like he was trying to pin the blame outside himself

Maybe all the strings inside him broke.

I am the all-singing, all-dancing crap of this world.... I am the toxic waste by-product of God's creation.

By his monstrous way of life he seemed to have put himself beyond the limits of reality. Nothing moved him or spoke to him from the real world unless he heard it in an echo of the infuriated cries within him.

I suffer from a spiritual malaise which manifests itself in outbursts of vicious rage.

There are no windows within the dark house of depression through which to see others, only mirrors.

My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain.

I think maybe I know why,' she finally said. 'Why?' 'Maybe all the strings inside him broke,' she said.

Injuries come only from the heart.

When the beginnings of self destruction enter the heart, it seems no bigger than a grain of sand.

My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain.

She did not know what it was about him that had always made her want to see him broken.

She plays music to heal herself, but nothing can heal her brokenness.

If you lose your purpose ... it's like you're broken.

There is a chasm between me and the world outside of me. A gap so wide my feelings can't cross it. By the time my screams reach the other side, they have dwindled into groans.

If, on thinking this, I look up to see if reality can quench my thirst, I see inexpressive facades, inexpressive faces, inexpressive gestures. Stones, bodies, ideas - all dead. All movements are one great standstill. Nothing means anything to me, not because it's unfamiliar but because I don't know what it is. The world has slipped away. And in the bottom of my soul - as the only reality of this moment - there's an intense and invisible grief, a sadness like the sound of someone crying in a dark room.

I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.

The truly solitary being is not the man who is abandoned by men, but the man who suffers in their midst, who drags his desert through the marketplace and deploys his talents as a smiling leper, a mountebank of the irreparable.