Quotes About Suffering

As the old French proverb warns: "He who fears to suffer suffers from fear.

What stirs lyrical poets to their finest flights is neither the delight of the senses nor the fruitful contentment of the settled couple; not the satisfaction of love, but its passion. And passion means suffering.

El pueblo, eterno esclavo de los tiranos que lo oprimen, de los bribones que lo engañan y de los bufones que lo divierten.

Tell me how it is that whoever wrote out the great scroll could have decreed that such would be the reward of a noble act? Why should I, who am merely a miserable compound of faults, take your defence while He calmly watched you being attacked, knocked down, manhandled and trampled underfoot, He who is supposed to be the embodiment of all perfection?

Talk into here. Talk into my bullet hole. Tell me I'm fine.

If illness didn't kill you, you died of bad luck.

You've never felt good. Your suffering protects you. Pain is the ransom you have gladly paid not to be free.

THE PEOPLE'S THIRST FOR FREEDOM HAS DRIVEN US TO DRINK BAD WATER.

Well, you were sad about the kids for a while, for a month, two months, three months. You're sad about the kids, sad about the animals, you don't do the women, you don't kill the animals, but after that you realize this is a war zone and everybody here lives in it. You don't care whether these people live or die tomorrow, you don't care whether you yourself live or die tomorrow, you kick the children aside, you do the women, you shoot the animals.

Your husband will beat you with an extension cord and the bus will pull away leaving you standing there in tears, but you were my mother.

She knew: shit, we might as well have been drinking a dog's tears. Nothing mattered except that we were alive.

G]ive him this much: death didn't just walk up and inhale him. He wasn't exactly whisked away. He left claw marks on his life.

Will you believe me when I tell you there was kindness in his heart? His left hand didn't know what his right hand was doing. It was only that certain important connections had been burned through. If I opened up your head and ran a hot soldering iron around in your brain, I might turn you into someone like that.

Let me tell you, the bite of the serpent is nothing compared to the bite of your fellow man.

And often the worst thing wasn't the victims--they were dead, after all, and beyond any more pain. The worst thing was those who loved them and survived them. Often the walking dead from now on, shell-shocked, hearts ruptured, stumbling through the remainder of their lives without anything left inside of them but blood and organs, impervious to pain, having learned nothing except that the worst things did, in fact, sometimes happen. (Mystic River)

We all have our crosses to bear.

Another long pull of the sawteeth across the pink folds of his brain, and Teddy had to bite down against a scream and he heard Rachel's screams in there too with the fire and he saw her looking into his eyes and felt her breath on his lips and felt her face in his hands as his thumbs caressed her temples and that fucking saw went back and forth through his head— don'ttakethosefuckingpills

Se o senhor algum dia vir um campo de extermínio, doutor, procure-me novamente para falar de sentimentos em relação a Deus.

El tema, escribió él, es el dolor. Cuánto acumulo, cuánto esquivo.

After all this suffering, the faces seemed to ask, are we to accept that suffering is the point?

Being alone, you see, is the worst of hell's punishments.

Habías visto algo tan cruel? Soltó una risita. —He visto cosas

Said, My whole fucking family, you believe that shit? A week ago we all in the pink, eating dinner 'round the table—my son and daughter-in-law, my daughter and son-in-law, three grandchildren, and Bess. Just sitting and eating and jawing. And then, then, it was like God Hisself reached through the roof and into their house and closed his hand 'round the whole family and squeezed. Like we was flies on the table, he said. Like that.

And often the worst thing wasn't the victims—they were dead, after all, and beyond any more pain. The worst thing was those who'd loved them and survived them. Often the walking dead from now on, shell-shocked, hearts ruptured, stumbling through the remainder of their lives without anything left inside of them but blood and organs, impervious to pain, having learned nothing except that the worst things did, in fact, sometimes happen.