Quotes About Excruciating

It ought to be an offense to be excruciating and unfunny in circumstances where your audience is almost morally obliged to enthuse.

Anger is not a feeling; it's a defence. When you can't acknowledge your true feelings because they're too excruciating, you defend against them with anger.

I figured I must be more present now, in this perfectly excruciating moment when my fondest wish was to be absent.

from T. E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom, is a kind of muted and updated, excruciatingly astute version of Rudyard Kipling's Gunga Din. The word "muted" does not refer to the musical score, which must be the loudest in the history of the cinema

Waiting was a tragicomedy. There was this whole absurdist, endless, excruciating quality to it. We distract ourselves in a million different ways to delude ourselves into thinking that we're not "waiting", because waiting is unendurable. Waiting has demands. It percolates with fear and potential rejection, and threatens you with despair... There's always a wisp of hope in the hopelessness...

Personal humiliation was painful. Humiliation of one's family was much worse. Humiliation of one's social status was agony to bear. But humiliation of one's nation was the most excruciating of human miseries.

Apollo's handsome face twisted as another white-hot wave of pain pulsed up his arm. "It doesn't hurt like hell. It hurts like bloody buggering hell.

I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it's rather excruciating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience.

Something about the joy and pain of that moment, something about the excruciating contrast, made me feel that no matter what happens now, my life has been worth it. What a ride.

It is excruciating to be an unbeliever with a spirit that is deeply religious... Poetry is a religion without hope.

At first Edward had tried hard to shield her from the press. That first year. That first, godawful, intolerable, excruciating year, when she was nine.

Being hurt is only superficial. Being fooled is more excruciating.

Finn is God: I reach between us and release the buckles that are holding us together. This is when I really panic. The ride up in the plane didn't scare me. Or the height or the jump or the noise. None of that scared me. Right now, only one thing does. Julie Seagle: Tell me. Finn is God: I'm terrified that when I undo that buckle and release you, that you'll get up and walk away from me. I can't think of anything more excruciating.

Where are you, Adam? According to the book of Genesis, Adam went into hiding after the fall. By trying to be more than human, Adam felt less than human. Before the fall, Adam was not ashamed; after the fall he was. Toxic shame is true agony. It is a pain felt from the inside, in the core of our being. It is excruciatingly painful.

I had, bluntly, the worst fucking headache I had ever had in my life. I'm trying to think of the best way to describe it. Try this. Imagine a migraine, on top of a hangover, while sitting in a kindergarten of thirty screaming children, who are all taking turns stabbing you in the eye with an ice pick. Times six. That was the good part of my headache.

Something about the joy and pain of that moment, something about the excruciating contrast,made me feel that no matter what happens now, my life has been worth it. What a ride.

Infatuation is one of those slightly comic illnesses which are at once so undignified and so painful that a nice-minded world does its best to ignore their existence altogether, referring to them only under provocation and then with apology, but, like its more material brother, this boil on the neck of the spirit can hardly be forgotten either by the sufferer or anyone else in his vicinity. The malady is ludicrous, sad, excruciating and, above all, instantly diagnosable.

When the company owned me and rented me out for surveys, my security protocol included datamining, which meant monitoring and recording the humans every second for the duration of the contract, which was excruciating in a lot of ways. Pretty much all the ways. (All the ways involving sex, bodily fluids, and inane conversations.)

Dementia is a particularly long farewell to the self. With most illnesses, death comes quite swiftly. With dementia, the flicker with which life ends is excruciatingly slowed.

Ow. Ow. That hurt. Ack.. I'm dead.

When we become lost in this process, we miss out on our crucial emotional need to experience a sense of belonging. We live in permanent estrangement oscillating between the extremes of too good for others or too unlikeable to be included. This is the excruciating social perfectionism of the Janus-faced critic: others are too flawed to love and we are too defective to be lovable.