My hand is shattered half as much as the door I put it through. The door is shattered a fraction of the amount my mind shatters every day. My mind is shattered an infitesimal degree of the extent to which reality is shattered into tiny particles, quarks, magnetopoles and whatever else we imagine to explain it all. Reality is shattered in nothing like the manner in which conceptuality is shattered, between an infinity of clashing, colliding, complementary and contradictory ideas, realities, oblivions, limbo's voids, gods, irealities and whatever else we can conceive of for no reason whatsoever other than because we can.
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