Broken bottles, broken plates, broken switches, broken gates. Broken dishes, broken parts, streets are filled with broken hearts.
Brokenness is the operative issue of our time - broken souls, broken hearts, broken places.
Beyond politics, the West is suffering from what can be called a crisis of brokenness - broken institutions, broken families and broken souls.
I don't like the clean-shaven boy with the necktie and the good job. I like desperate men, men with broken teeth and broken minds and broken ways. They interest me. They are full of surprises and explosions.
In spite of all the dishonour, the broken standards, the broken lives, The broken faith in one place or another, There was something left that was more than the tales Of old men on winter evenings.
I rejoice that horses and steers have to be broken before they can be made the slaves of men, and that men themselves have some wild oats still left to sow before they become submissive members of society. Undoubtedly, all men are not equally fit subjects for civilization; and because the majority, like dogs and sheep, are tame by inherited disposition, this is no reason why the others should have their natures broken that they may be reduced to the same level.
Everybody knows something's broken in the world. But illogically, foolishly, we are looking for fixes from broken people with broken ideas in broken places.
In true love there is no heart break. A broken heat means broken demands, broken expectations and broken hopes.
This world is full of broken things: broken hearts, broken promises, broken people.
I've died 3 times, I've been shot in the back, stabbed once in my arm, stabbed 2 times in my back, run over by a truck, been poisoned, broke both of my arms, nose (3 times broken), ribs, both legs, but a broken heart hurt me the most.
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.
The horses forced into the chuckwagon races die of heart attacks, broken necks, broken legs, and other injuries. It'd be easy to get off on western tradition without this bloody spectacle. Dude, it's the Old West, not ancient Rome!
Let me tell you something: You can live in a broken home, you can play with a broken toy, but you cannot love with a broken heart.
Jesus knows the burdens we carry and the tears we shed, but He is the healer of broken hearts, broken dreams, and broken lives. Trust him. He never fails.
A broken immigration system means broken families and broken lives.
It's the notion that there is no perfection - that there is a broken world and we live with broken hearts and broken lives but still there is no alibi for anything. On the contrary, you have to stand up and say hallelujah under those circumstances.