The heart will break, but broken live on.

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

...an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.

As artists, we are eternally heartbroken.

Ceaseless as the interminable voices of the bell-cricket, all night till dawn my tears flow.

Ceaseless as the interminable voices of the bell-cricket, all night till dawn my tears flow.

Weep for what is lost forever.

The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.

But, true, I’ve wept too much! Dawns break hearts./ Every moon is brutal, every sun bitter.

There are many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts broken by love, but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream — whatever that dream might be.

Our hearts have to cry to end our tears.

This will end in tears.

If you’re really listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly.

When your soulmate cries your heart weeps.