Quotes About Suffering

Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?

Living is hell of a death

It is vital to understand that however positive this worldly life, or even a small part of it, may appear to be, ultimately it will fail because absolutely nothing genuinely works in samsara.

A more appropriate question to ask a Buddhist is simply, "What is life?" From our understanding of impermanence, the answer should be obvious: "Life is a big array of assembled phenomena, and thus life is impermanent." It is a constant shifting, a collection of transitory experiences. And although myriad life-forms exist, one thing we all have in common is that no living being wishes to suffer. We

If we know, even a little bit, that some of our familiar concepts, feelings, and objects exist only as a dream, we develop a much better sense of humour. Recognizing the humour in our situation prevents suffering. We still experience emotions, but they can no longer play tricks on us or pull the wool over our eyes.

Wherever I go, my evils accompany me. That is the capital gift of my existence.

I have not met any enjoyment I have not had to expiate one way or another.

Silence is a protective coating over pain.

Here I am frozen, when I deserve to burn.

She confused being spartan with being charitable, and gave away her possessions without truly doing good with them. She confused being sick with being brave, and suffered agonies while imagining she merited praise for it. She confused wit with intelligence, and made people laugh rather than lightening their hearts or making them think.

Not all pain is worth it,' said Tipper. 'Some pain is just pain.

She confused being sick with being brave, and suffered agonies while imagining she merited praise for it.

I lie in my darkened room. Scavenger birds peck at the oozing matter that leaks from my crushed skull.

A lot of times, I wish I were dead, I truly do, just to make the pain stop.

It is true I suffer migraines since my accident. It is true I do not suffer fools. I like a twist of meaning. You see? Suffer migraines. Do not suffer fools. The word means almost the same as it did in the previous sentence, but not quite. Suffer. You could say it means endure, but that's not exactly right.

It is true I suffer migraines since my accident. It is true I do not suffer fools.

Tragedy is ugly and tangled, stupid and confusing.

Every time Gat said these things, so casual and truthful, so oblivious—my veins opened. My wrists split. I bled down my palms. I went light-headed. I'd stagger from the table or collapse in quiet shameful agony, hoping no one in the family would notice. Especially not Mummy.

It's a tiny box, Mirren. Me and Mummy. Me and my pills. Me and my pain. I don't want to live there anymore.

Then he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound,

Scavenger birds peck at the oozing matter that leaks from my crushed skull.

Do you understand, Cady? Silence is a protective coating over pain.

It'll just hurt a lot.

I was pure liquid loss, then, for an hour or two.