Quotes About Suffering

Tears upon the dry sponge of heart do not prove I am Promethean.

I do worship ancient hungers and chains dripping blood, but I am so tired of the taste of my heart.

Life, Enza decided, is not about what you get, but what is taken from you. It's in the things we lose that we discover what we most treasure.

Living hell is the best revenge.

As her sons have seen her: the mother in patriarchy: controlling, erotic, castrating, heart-suffering, guilt-ridden, and guilt-provoking; a marble brow, a huge breast, an avid cave; between her legs snakes, swamp-grass, or teeth; on her lap a helpless infant or a martyred son. She exists for one purpose: to bear and nourish the son.

The problem, unstated until now, is how to live in a damaged body in a world where pain is meant to be gagged uncured ungrieved over. The problem is to connect, without hysteria, the pain of anyone's body with the pain of the world's body.

With whom do you believe your lot is cast? From where does your strength come? I think somehow, somewhere every poem of mine must repeat those questions which are not the same. There is a whom , a where that is not chosen that is given and sometimes falsely given in the beginning we grasp whatever we can to survive

The woman who cherished her suffering is dead. I am her descendant. I love the scar-tissue she handed on to me, but I want to go on from here with you fighting the temptation to make a career of pain.

The world tells me I am its creature I am raked by eyes brushed by hands I want to crawl into her for refuge lay my head in the space between her breast and shoulder abnegating power for love as women have done or hiding from power in her love like a man I refuse these givens the splitting between love and action I am choosing not to suffer uselessly and not to use her I choose to love this time for once with all my intelligence

You ask me how I'm going to live the rest of my life Well, nothing is predictable with pain Did the old poets write of this? —in its odd spaces, free, many have sung and battled— But I'm already living the rest of my life not under conditions of my choosing wired into pain rider on the slow train

You were a woman walked on a leash. And they dropped you in the end.

This is the story of what a Woman's patience can endure, and what a Man's resolution can achieve.

Have you ever thought that war is a madhouse and that everyone in the war is a patient?

Job plunges into a series of demands on and accusations of God which may be and indeed are epigrams of high intelligence, but are not noticeably patient.

We still have a strong commitment to our original mission, which is to protect and assist people who are suffering from the impact of violence, but the violence has changed its character, format, and pattern so that we are now responding year after year.

There is much that makes one pause in 'If This is a Man', the record of Levi's 11-month incarceration in Auschwitz, much one cannot read without needing to lay aside the book and inhale the breath of common air.

For we are born in other's pain, and perish in our own.

What makes me unusually intense is that I personalize the pain of war, the pain of children being killed, the pain of a 16-year-old who has been permanently cheated by his school and cannot read.

This is a soul under perpetual migraine attack.

The first persecution of the Church took place in the year 67, under Nero, the sixth emperor of Rome.

Vegheaz? umbr?-a ??rnii,umbr? ca de iad, deschi?i tu ochi-mi legi cu lan? de fier...?i cad în pat p?truns de mii de suli?i în m?nunchi... ?i ca s?-mi pot goni durerea- vino,moarte... Ha,moarte,port la ??rmul viselor de?arte, îngroap?-m suferin?a rogu-te-n genunchi...

In one manner or the other, it still remains true that, even in the view of a mere biologist, the human epic resembles nothing so much as a way of the Cross.

Adults had the notion that juveniles needed to suffer. Only when they had suffered enough to wipe out most of their naturally joyous spirits and innocence were they staid enough to be considered mature. An adult was essentially a broken-down child.

They merit more praise who know how to suffer misery than those who temper themselves with contentment.