Quotes About Suffering

A wise man, recognizing that the world is an illusion, does not act as if it is real, and so he escapes suffering." The

Sometimes when we are coming down from the many drugs we must take to make it through the night in this hellhole kitchen, we leave the cleanup to morning," Raymond said.

If sinners were so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?

Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.

The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.

One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.

The damned could be saved...anytime. But they refused to give up their sins. Though they suffered endlessly, they would not give them up, even for salvation, perfect divine love. I hadn't understood at the time. If sinners were unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.

here, here is my dark world. you carry it for a change. im out

It wasn't awful to be dead. The stillness would almost be a relief. She wouldn't want pain, she wouldn't want to be wounded or mutilated. She could never shoot herself or jump off a building. But being dead wasn't unthinkable.

In a train...smash. In his arm her last...breath.' He had loved her. But he hated himself more. Such suffering, so much pain. And he thought it made him hateful. As if suffering was shameful, disgusting, as if pain were a crime. Who can judge another man's suffering?

She was a beautiful woman dragging a crippled foot and I was that foot. I was bricks sewn into the hem of her clothes, I was a steel dress

Who can judge another man's suffering?

I hadn't understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy,why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.

How vast was a human being's capacity for suffering. The only thing you could do was stand in awe of it. It wasn't a question of survival at all. It was the fullness of it, how much could you hold, how much could you care.

Isn't it funny. I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you. It's so soothing. I feel infinitely better now.

Maybe there was just the Devil, the real God of this lousy world.

Her body felt like it'd been beaten with a hose. This must be what it felt like to get old. It wasn't that your body fell apart from living so long. It was that you had to take so many stompings from life that you'd be happy when the time came to close your eyes and never open them again.

I hadn't understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn't like I didn't know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss.

God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.

It was that you had to take so many stompings from life that you'd be happy when the time came to close your eyes and never open them ever again

The damned could be saved, he said, anytime. But they refused to give up their sins. Though they suffered endlessly, they would not give them up, even for salvation, perfect divine love.

I didn't want to remind her that I was the reason she was trapped in electric bills and kid's shoes grown too small, the reason she was clawing at the windows like Michaels dying tomatoes. She was a beautiful woman dragging a crippled foot and I was that foot. I was bricks sewn into the hem of her clothes, I was a steel dress.

She was a beautiful woman dragging a crippled foot and I was that foot. I was bricks sewn into the hem of her clothes, I was a steel dress. "What

The Romans were right. One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.