The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the

Ernest Hemingway, soldier of life and witness to both its brutality and its beauty, once wrote with unflinching clarity: “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” These words are not mere reflection; they are prophecy. For no man or woman, however mighty, can pass through this life without being broken. The blows of grief, loss, failure, betrayal, and suffering fall upon us all. Yet out of this universal wound rises a question: will you be destroyed by the breaking, or will you be remade—stronger, wiser, tempered in the fire of pain?

When Hemingway speaks of the world breaking everyone, he speaks as one who knew it firsthand: a man who lived through war, who bore wounds in both body and spirit, who wrestled with despair, and yet who shaped those wounds into words that still strike the hearts of millions. The breaking is inevitable; no shield can guard us forever from life’s sorrow. But the heart of his quote lies in the second truth: some are strong at the broken places. Here is the paradox of resilience—out of fracture, a greater strength can be born.

This truth is echoed in the ancient craft of pottery, in the Japanese art of kintsugi, where shattered vessels are repaired with veins of gold. The cracks are not hidden, but illuminated, made into a new kind of beauty. The vessel, once broken, becomes more precious than before. So it is with the human soul. The places where you were broken can become the very places where your strength shines most clearly—if you choose to endure, to learn, and to rise again.

Consider the story of Helen Keller, struck blind and deaf at an age when most children are only beginning to taste the world. By every worldly measure, she was broken beyond repair. Yet through courage, perseverance, and the tireless teaching of Anne Sullivan, Keller became a woman of vision without sight, a voice without hearing, an inspiration to millions. Her brokenness became her power, her limitation transformed into her strength. She stands as proof of Hemingway’s words: the broken place, made strong, can move the world.

But let us not deceive ourselves—this strength does not come easily. Many are broken and remain broken, retreating into bitterness or despair. The difference lies in choice. Strength at the broken places is not granted automatically; it is earned by the struggle to rise, by the refusal to surrender. It is found in the discipline to face pain without being consumed, to draw wisdom from wounds, to let suffering carve depth into the soul rather than emptiness.

The lesson, therefore, is clear: do not curse the breaking, for it is the gateway to transformation. When life shatters you, you may see only ruin—but within that ruin lies the possibility of a greater self. Your broken places are not signs of shame; they are invitations to courage. And once made strong, those scars become your armor, your testimony, and your gift to others who suffer.

In practice, this means: when hardship comes, do not flee it. Acknowledge your pain, but do not let it define you. Seek support, but do not yield your will. Write your story, create from your wounds, speak your truth so others may heal. Remember that scars are not marks of weakness, but of battles survived. Each time you rise from breaking, you become less fragile, more resilient, more alive.

So pass down Hemingway’s wisdom: the world breaks everyone—but afterward, some are strong at the broken places. Choose to be among the strong. Let your wounds teach you, your scars guide you, and your brokenness forge you into a vessel of light. For though none escape the breaking, it is the rising afterward that marks the difference between the fallen and the heroic.