A Heart Made of Tissue Paper Quotes

“It seems my heart is made of tissue paper; I wish the world would handle it more delicately.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“I wish I were a tree.
Tall. Strong. Abiding.
Rooted in the spot I stand, impervious to lures that drag the transient here and there. Possessing neither a negligent ear nor a traitorous tongue that would only soak in and breath out rabid gossip. Able to endure fickle shifts in the wind and not bend. Lazing under the fierce sun, weariless, suffering no sweat or burn.
Alive, sipping water, quietly providing.
How I wish I were a tree.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“I found a room, both quiet and slow,
a room where the walls are thick.
Where pixie dust is kept in jars,
and paper rockets soar to Mars,
and battles leave no lasting scars
as clocks forget to tick.

I guard this room, both small and bare,
this room in which stories live.
Where Peter Pan and Alice play,
and Sinbad sails at dawn of day,
and wolves cry 'boy' to get their way
when ogres won’t forgive.

With you I’ll share my hiding place,
this room under cloak and spell.
We’ll snuggle up inside a nook,
and read a venturous story book,
that makes us question in a look
what nonsense fairies tell.
In fictive plots and fabled ends,
Our happy-e’er-afters dwell!”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“Life requires a childlike approach to grasp what a miracle it is to just live.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“A thousand times over with you,
I yearned to linger in a perfect moment
and stop the passing of time.

A thousand times over with you,
I caught your tender smile and tucked it
carefully away in my heart for safekeeping.

A thousand times over with you,
I took in your sunny gaze and
hoarded its light for the wintry season.

A thousand times over with you,
I heard your laughter and sat silent
as it vibrated like music in my soul.

A thousand times over with you,
I saw your eyes twinkle like stars,
and I made a wish for forever.

A thousand times over with you,
I noted wisdom in your years,
and I filed away your thoughtful words.

A thousand times over with you,
I felt the warmth of your hand in mine
and squeezed tight, reluctant to let go.

A thousand times over with you,
I pondered how quickly mortality ushers us
from sunrise to sunset, and I dreaded the night.

A thousand times over with you,
I embraced the promise of immortality,
dreaming of a day when perfect moments
linger pleasantly on and on and on
a thousand times over with you.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“A lonely face aglow on high.
You mean the moon.
A flower, red, has caught his eye.
A rose in bloom.
He cannot touch her, though he tries.
In darkness glints the tears he cries.
I see mere stars; you boldly lie.
Nay, poetry to draw your sigh.
I am immune.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“He was always thoughtful and affectionate toward her, and so she was a sweetheart to him.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“How does a tiny heart harbor so many clashing sentiments?
One moment it is devoted. The next, purely disdaining. Weeping at tremendous heartache and then laughing, lighthearted, through the same tears.
How can a heart rage so fierce as to boil blood while it turns to ice?

How is this done?

To love, hate, esteem, deride, rejoice, deplore, favor, resent—
all of these and more swirling inside.
This sensitive heart, so full and resilient, buoys up to the point of bursting and then deflates on a dime. It is a slave to whims and whispers.
How is it that the human heart beats so wild and untamed?”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“I am falling in love with you,
but I can’t say a word.

You don’t care for love.
It has bruised you, broken you, burned you.
You call it a curse. Yet, I fear I am captive of this enemy, love.

You warn of its destructive power.
Oh, but it warms me like none other! It engulfs me in caressing flames, and foolishly I crave more. I can’t bear to suffer the cold, so I let you feed the fire unwittingly.

I am falling in love with you.
I am in love with you,
and it’s getting worse.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“Where does our laughter travel to?

Does it search out monkeys in the zoo?
Or settle on the heart like dew?
Or cling to lip-glossed smiles on me and you?

Does it hang around throughout the day?
Or spread its wings and fly away?
Or gather-in like puffy clouds of gray?

Perhaps it hooks a rainbow’s end
And melts to make the colors blend.
Or paints a happy face upon a friend.

Does it turn to stardust when it’s late?
Or in a windstorm, circulate?
Or does it simply fade and dissipate?

What is our laughter’s merrymaking fate?”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“I want to hear her laugh.

To watch sunbeams awaken her visage and shine through her eyes. To see the gray clouds of regret that hang heavy over her head rain away to nothing.

I want to hear her sunny voice dance on the breeze, as light and free as glossy bubbles, floating up…up…up to pop like hiccups. I want to know the type and form of key I must cut to unshackle even a portion of her joy.

If I could pluck the winning feather; if my smile could convince; if I could stroke her vocal chords like harp strings and make each treble note ascend to euphoria. Oh, to hear the giggled melody she would release into a world craving the balm of mirth!
I ache to experience that. I am desperate for it.

I live for the day I hear her laugh.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“He was a volcano that spewed only ashes and destruction, and they despised him for that lying tongue.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“How sweetly delirious are the tinkling and trilling of mirth that draw to their sounds the friendliest hearts.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“The weight of my grief in the depth of sorrows rivals the bliss of our love at the height of past joys.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“Rewards live at the far edge of honest sweat, heavy toil, and dogged determination.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“I pondered the day away at the changing shapes of passing clouds, lazing in the shade of palm trees.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“There are more books than can be read, more friends than can be made, more laughs than can be chortled, and no time to waste.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“I’ve found that the best way to live one’s life
Is above the fog of negative thought,
With gossiping lips outside of earshot,
Keeping harsh criticism far less rife.

I’ve found that the best way to avoid strife
Is by sharing with others who have not,
Seeing the good, speaking kindness a lot,
Burying hatchets as well as sharp knives.

Every compassionate deed we have sown
Lifts a heavy burden from a brother.
Each positive thought and comment we own
Extends joy and love to one another.
Life was not meant to be traveled alone.
It is where we learn we need each other.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“If you were not so gentle,
If you were hard to please,
If you were never patient
And always ill at ease,

If you were far from humble,
If you could not forgive,
If all you did was grumble
And curse the life you live,

If you were irreligious,
If you were not composed,
If you were quite ignoble,
If you had not proposed,

If you were daft as killdeer,
If you were less than kind,
If you were proud and pushy,
I’d pay you little mind.
And never would I ever
Call you Valentine.

But you are kind and gentle,
So patiently at ease.
You’re gracious, sweet, and humble.
Not ever hard to please.

You evince faith and service;
They dictate how you live.
Good will along with mercy
Allow you to forgive.

Despite the trials and heartaches,
You count your blessings all.
Despite the miles between us,
Persistently you call.

The gestures of affection.
The compliments so kind.
The selfless acts of service
Endear you in my mind.
And that, my dear, is why I
Call you Valentine.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper

“How do I know I have lived?
How can I be certain my days were not squandered?
What criteria, which principles qualify life as lived?

Certainly, I have endured trials and troubles, and I learned from life’s lessons. I grew wise as well as empathetic. But is edification and its accompanying traits the ultimate aim for living?

I have traveled. Oh, I have seen marvelous wonders in this world. Skies that were artic blue, emerald green, soft lilac, and rosy red. Mountains fixed like monuments to the gods. Waters as clear as crystal, as blue as larimar, deeper than a leviathan’s lair, and as vast as the night’s sky. I have witnessed pyramids and castles, colosseums, great walls, and temples. Is this living? To travel, to see, to awe at the world’s aesthetic wonders?

I have experienced great joys in my days: laughter, kindness, fun, love, thrills, successes. I have suffered a great many sorrows: sickness, loss, pain, cruelty, vengeance, disparagement. I have valued the good and abhorred the bad. Is this the ultimate feat of living?

I have been actively doing: from sailing to flying, acting to singing, hiking to biking. I have dived, danced, drummed, battled, built, raced, and used my incredible body to perform every activity I desired. I gained strength and endurance in the process. Is this a sure sign of living?

I have been part of a family and raised my own. I have formed lasting, loyal friendships that have passed the test of time. I have felt what it means to sacrifice for loved ones, shared in their joys and sorrows, prayed for tender mercies and miracles in their lives. I have loved and been loved in return. Is it connection to family and friends, the relationships developed between kindred, is this what it means to truly live?

How do I know I have lived?
As my days near an end, how can I be certain my life was worthwhile and not wasted? Did I accomplish what life mandates of those who truly live?
What qualifies life as lived?”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, A Heart Made of Tissue Paper