Quotes About Suffering

This time, Mr. Steiner placed his hand on Rudy's head and explained, "I know, son —but you've got beautiful blond hair and big, safe blue eyes. You should be happy with that; is that clear?" But nothing was clear. Rudy understood nothing, and that night was the prelude of things to come. Two and a half years later, the Kaufmann Shoe Shop was reduced to broken glass, and all the shoes were flung aboard a truck in their boxes.

The brother shivers. The woman weeps. And the girl goes on reading, for that's why she's there, and it feels good to be something in the aftermath of the snows of Stalingrad.

Qué gran maldad puede encubrir la prolongación de una vida.

You will be caked in your own body.

Foi um ano para a eternidade, como 79, como 1346, para citar apenas alguns. Esqueçam a foice, raios, eu precisava de uma vassoura e de uma esfregada. E precisava de férias.

But in another city, another valley, another ghetto, another slum, another favela, another township, another intifada, another war, another birth, somebody is singing Redemption Song, as if the Singer wrote it for no other reason but for this sufferah to sing, shout, whisper, weep, bawl, and scream right here, right now.

A man will suffer misery to get to the bottom of truth, but he will not suffer boredom.

Se non fosse stato per quella sofferenza che non avrebbe avuto nulla di pudibondo per chi non fosse stata ammalata anche di pudibondia, e se non fosse stato per la perdita delle lettere, a Fernanda non sarebbe importata la pioggia, perché in fin dei conti tutta la vita era stata per lei come se stesse piovendo.

Depression is such a cruel punishment. There are no fevers, no rashes, no blood tests to send people scurrying in concern, just the slow erosion of self, as insidious as cancer. And like cancer, it is essentially a solitary experience; a room in hell with only your name on the door

My depression points to my not knowing how to lose - I have perhaps been unable to find a valid compensation for the loss. It follows that any loss entails the loss of my being - and of Being itself. The depressed person is a radical, sullen atheist.

Suffer from depression. That's right. It is suffering. A person does not just have depression. She suffers from it.

Call someone 'a schizophrenic' or 'a borderline' [and it] lulls us into a false sense that those words tell us who the person is, rather than only telling us how the person suffers.

I cried to her, Why did this have to happen? Why? I expected some plausible and complicated medical explanation. She shrugged and said gently, Because, Martha, it was just your turn.

Just like any civilized person, you've spent practically your whole life torturing an innocent wild creature. Starved it, then force-fed it, cut it, cursed it, driven it to exhaustion. Imprisoned it with other creatures who tormented it." "What?" Diana shakes her head in miserable confusion. "I don't even kill spiders! I never wanted to hurt anything." "The innocent wild creature to which I refer, my darling, is you.

This time the skin seperates and she blinks her way back into the universe, watches the valley fold open, the blood seaming up along the cut and pressing out, blue to red in the air of this world, and as usual the pain springs her into the here and now.

Painting completed my life. I lost three children and a series of other things that would have fulfilled my horrible life. My painting took the place of all this. I think work is the best. (Frida Kahlo, p. 157)

Suffering doesn't concern itself with the scale of other sufferings.

Oh man sometimes I wake up feel like a cat runover. Are you familiar with the stoical aspects of hard drinking, of heavy drinking? Oh it's heavy. Oh it's hard. It isn't easy. Jesus, I never meant me any harm. All I wanted was a good time.

Everyone is right up there at the very brink of their pain limit.

Is it a war we are fighting, a war against health, against life and love? My condition is a torn condition. Every day, the dispensing of existence. I see the face of suffering. Its face is fierce and distant and ancient. There's probably a straightforward explanation for the impossible weariness I feel. A perfectly straightforward explanation. It is a mortal weariness. Maybe I'm tired of being human, if human is what I am. I'm tired of being human.

Oppression lays down blood-lust. It lays it down like a wine.

Describing the soap in the gulag] It smelt as if some sacred physical law had been demeaned in its creation.

No longer can I bear with the ruined god, betrayed and beaten by his own magic. Calling on powers best left unsummoned, he took human beings apart—and then he put them back together again.

There are many accounts of prison floors strewn with genitals, breasts, tongues, eyes and ears. Arma virumque cano, and Hitler-Stalin tells us this, among other things: given total power over another, the human being will find that his thoughts turn to torture.