Quotes About Suffering

Many times we have difficulties which trouble us mentally and emotionally. Nevertheless, while we are suffering in our mind and emotion, there is a sweet sense deep within our spirit. It seems that if we did not have this suffering, we would not have this enjoyment. The Christian suffering brings us the Christian enjoyment. From the moment we called on the name of the Lord Jesus and received Him as our Savior, we began to have these two aspects in our experience.

The Lord Jesus has set His suffering life before us as an underwriting for us to copy by tracing that He may be reproduced in us [1 Pet. 2:20-21].

Romance is the sweetening of the soul With fragrance offered by the stricken heart.

It is a great consolation for me to remember that the Lord, to whom I had drawn near in humble and child-like faith, has suffered and died for me, and that He will look on me in love and compassion.

Ich kann nicht beten:"laß mir sie!"und doch kommt sie mir oft als die Meine vor. Ich kann nicht beten:"gib mir sie!"denn sie ist eines andern. Ich witzle mich mit meinen Schmerzen herum; wenn ich mir's nachließe, es gäbe eine ganze Litanei von Antithesen.

Manchmal sag' ich mir: dein Schicksal ist einzig; preise die übrigen glücklich—so ist noch keiner gequält worden.—dann lese ich einen Dichter der Vorzeit, und es ist mir, als säh' ich in mein eignes Herz. Ich habe so viel auszustehen! Ach, sind denn Menschen vor mir schon so elend gewesen?

I come from the South and I know what war is, for I have seen its terrible wreckage and ruin. It is easy for me as President to declare war. I do not have to fight, and neither do the gentlemen on the Hill who now clamor for it. It is some poor farmer's boy, or the son of some poor widow - who will have to do the fighting and dying.

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But, then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness -- I hope you're getting this down.

I feel that life is divided into the horrible and the miserable. That's the two categories. The horrible are like, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. And the miserable is everyone else. So you should be thankful that you're miserable, because that's very lucky, to be miserable.

That's essentially how I feel about life. Full of loneliness and misery and suffering and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.

There's an old joke - um... two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions." Well, that's essentially how I feel about life - full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.

Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon.

There are three rings involved with marriage. The engagement ring, the wedding ring, and the suffering.

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.

Society is complex and harsh, demanding that you struggle hard to survive. No one can make you happy. Everything depends on you as to whether or not you attain happiness…. A human being is destined to a life of great suffering if he is weak and vulnerable to his external surroundings.

There's no way out of this mess, except to become enlightened and then enjoy it. —Robert Thurman A

Buddhism clearly explains that suffering emerges in our hearts because we forget the principle of impermanence and believe that what we possess will last forever.

Her belly ruptures full of parasites, Her eyes sink back in her skull Her butchered wrists, dangle From the edge of the bathtub Her children cuddle against her Desperate for love she cannot give

Ah fuck, he's going to gnaw my arm off; I'm losing a limb. I can't go through life with one arm. I mean, fuck, I'm already a hideous rodent with no game," he said, sniffling. "I'll be a wobbly, off-balanced dipshit who lost his arm to an ass. And not even the good type of ass. "Are you crying?" "No, no, I have sweat in my eyes," he explained as the donkey's tongue kept licking his face.

Only an object can suffer, but phenomenally subject and object, being one whole, spin like a coin so that the intervals between pile et face (heads and tails) are imperceptible. Consequently pain, or pleasure, appear to be continual. Noumenally, on the contrary, there is no object to suffer pain or pleasure. Noumenon is invulnerable, and cannot be otherwise. Noumenon is the unmanifested aspect of what we, sentient beings, are: Phenomenon is our manifestation.

The intelligence suffers today automatically in consequence of the attack on all authority, advantage, or privilege. These things are not done away with, it is needless to say, but numerous scapegoats are made of the less politically powerful, to satisfy the egalitarian rage awakened.

The mystics themselves do not seem to have believed their physical and mental sufferings to be a sign of grace, but it is unfortunate that it is precisely physical manifestations which appeal most to the religiosity of the mob. A woman might spend twenty years nursing lepers without having any notice taken of her, but let her once exhibit the stigmata or live for long periods on nothing but the Host and water, and in no time the crowd will be clamoring for her beatification.

There were always more Negroes in the field than there was Negroes in the house. The Negro in the field caught hell. He ate leftovers. In the house they ate high up on the hog. The Negro in the field didn't get nothing but what was left of the insides of the hog. They call 'em "chitt'lin'" nowadays. In those days they called them what they were: guts. That's what you were -- a gut-eater. And some of you all still gut-eaters.

Mira, me duele aquí, entre el hígado, el corazón y el amor propio, ¿cómo no voy a pinche guacarear, si tengo putas náuseas en el alma?