Quotes About Suffering

Come to him. He turns no penitent one away. Would you, if you had paid so much in suffering? Would you ever give up? All the doors that are locked against the Lord are locked by us.

Pain may well remind us that we are alive, but love reminds us why we are alive.

She disciplined her memory to give up counting her losses. She gave her suffering one name: exile.

They carry their past in them as though safekeeping it for someone else. Very often they look at me and say, poor thing. They say I have lost a mother and am alone in the world. They feel compassion for me, for a loss that comes to all; they disregard their own extraordinary suffering.

Tashi says nomads keep to the routines and customs they learned from their parents and they know the basic truths: that life is full of suffering, that suffering can be understood and lived through, that their actions and intentions will determine their future lives just as the past has allowed for this present life.

His face wears the blows delivered by life. Half his pain lies in what he omits from his story; the other half sits on his face with a tenebrous weight. I am struck by the thought that we live the life we have and then that of those we love, so that at all times we are aware of either existing suffering or imminent suffering. Even in these far away mountains, despair is still despair.

As I cooked in the cauldron of motherhood, the incredible love I felt for my children opened my heart and brought me a much greater understanding of universal love. It made me understand the suffering of the world much more deeply.

A mere two days without eating and you passed out. It must be tough not being able to photosynthesize.

Suffering does amazing things to people, they become very different in a very short period of time, in many cases, they get a lot wiser an alot braver and become very much more worth listening to.

I find it truly appalling that there are people in the world like you. You are a disgusting, vile, repulsive, repugnant, foul creature. Because of you, I don't believe in God anymore. No just God would allow someone like you to exist. (Quoting feedback from a reader)

before she could scream. Kestrel clutched at the blood pouring from her neck and staggered back, pummeled by the wind. Blister took another step and stabbed Kestrel in the heart with her poisonous tail. The SkyWing collapsed to the rocks, thrashing in agony. Her mouth opened to scream curses or breathe fire at her murderers, but only dark red blood bubbled out.

STOP SMILING ALREADY THE WORLD IS HORRIBLE GO AWAY.

WHAT WAS THIS. WHY DID IT HURT SO MUCH. WHO COULD SHE SET ON FIRE TO MAKE IT STOP.

EVERYTHING HURTS AND I HATE THE WORLD.

slashing pain across the body that betrayed her

how the side of the SkyWing's face was melted into a hideous dark mess, revealing a glimpse of her jawbone underneath and pulling one of her yellow eyes down and out of proportion

All the violence, fear, and suffering That exists in the world Comes from grasping at self.

Dodrupchen writes: Whenever problems come to us from beings or inanimate objects, if our mind gets used to perceiving only the suffering or the negative aspects of them, then even from a small negative incident great mental pain will ensue. For it is the nature of indulgence in any concept, whether suffering or happiness, that the experience of this happiness or suffering will thereby be intensified.

Can't sleep 'cause all the dirt make my heart hurt

The truth is, the only thing more painful than confronting an uncomfortable topic is pretending it doesn't exist. And I believe far more suffering is caused by failing to deal with an issue directly—and whispering about it in the hallways—than by putting it on the table and wrestling with it head on.

They might not be beautiful, but they were certainly suffering.

When I was in a Guineaman, between the wars, there was a certain sorts of blacks called Whydaws, or Whydoos, that used to die by the dozen in the Middle Passage, out of mere despair at being taken away from their country and their friends. We used to save a good many by touching them up with a horse-whip in the mornings.

with such vehemence as to cause a dull crepitation, followed by a shattering dart of agony.

Van Dongen was still there, with his Dutch wife and their little daughter, for whom Picasso made a sinister doll out of a black stocking; but van Dongen's days of extreme poverty, his diet of spinach alone, were almost at an end, for he had painted a fine erotic nude of Fernande (though its origin was never acknowledged)