Quotes About Suffering

Yet in the awful majesty of her pain he went out to her unreservedly, almost sexually. He wanted to gather her up in her arms, as he so often had Nicole, and cherish even her mistakes, so deeply were they part of her. The orange light through the drawn blind, the sarcophagus of her figure on the bed, the spot of face, the voice searching in the vacuity of her illness and finding only remote abstractions. As he arose the tears fled lava-like into her bandages.

If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of the individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye.

Dear little Dot, life is so damned hard. [...] So damned hard, so damned hard, he repeated aimlessly; it just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can't be hurt ever any more. That's the last and worst thing it does.

She shut her eyes and he could see that the lids were trembling. Dear little Dot, life is so damned hard. She was crying upon his shoulder. So damned hard, so damned hard, he repeated aimlessly; it just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can't be hurt ever any more. That's the last and worst thing it does. Frantic

tenho tendência para acautelar todos os juízos de valor, um hábito que me desvendou muitas naturezas curiosas, mas que também me vitimou com muitos aborrecimentos de morte. (...) na faculdade (...) era o confidente dos sofrimentos secretos de homens atormentados e obscuros. Não desejei a maior parte dessas confidências...

superior couples holding each other tortuously

My thu-umb!" explained Julie. "Oh-h-h-h, t'urts.

J'ai eu l'impression que la terre entière m'avait abandonnée. [...] J'ai tourné la tête et je me suis mise à pleurer. [...] De toute façon, je pense que tout est horrible. [...] J'ai été partout, j'ai tout fait, j'ai tout vu.

Our specialty is stories about little girls who break their spines and get adopted by grouchy old men because they smile so much. You'd think we were a race of cheerful cripples and that the common end of the Russian peasant was suicide— Six

A boldogság-jegyezte meg egyszer Maury Noble- nem több, mint egy különösen elviselhetetlen nyomorúság megszünését követÅ' egy óra.

a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of ash-gray men who move dimly and already crumbling though the powdery air.

One truth opened another. Ona still shaded everything we did. Ona's death was the last family affair. I'd seen Man suffer. I'd seen her break. Now more than anything. I wanted to see her happy.

Quienes más sufren son quienes menos lo dicen.

Churches were shut down and Stanislaw's father and three uncles had been sent to prison camps for speaking out.

She knew that being in love all by yourself was the loneliest, most painful experience known to man—or woman—and there was nothing she could do to help him.

czy ty kocha?a? ich Caddy czy? ty ich kocha?a kiedy mnie dotykali umiera?am

The more you want the more you suffer. If you want everything you must suffer everything.

Mi hanno fatto tanto male che non mi possono curare nessuna ferita. Tutto il mio corpo è una ferita. Non credo di dovertelo spiegare. E se alla fine mi rimanesse una cicatrice, sarebbe come quella di chi si è interamente bruciato. Io, tutta intera, sarei una cicatrice.

Deshacerme de libros que he amado (la Biblia principalmente por razones literarias) habría supuesto no hace mucho un sufrimiento insoportable para mí, como si me arrancaran las costillas de una en una sin anestesia.

I sometimes think that I enjoy suffering. But the truth is I would prefer something else.

There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes to where life is not painful; nor is there a port of call where it is possible to forget.

I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me.

It's not demons (who at least have a human face) but Hell itself that seems to be laughing inside me, it's the croaking madness of the dead universe, the spinning cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds blowing blackly in the wind, formless and timeless, without a God who created it, without even its own self, impossibly whirling in the absolute darkness as the one and only reality, everything.