Quotes About Suffering

Was bleibt? Nichts als die Qual, die Qual überlebt zu haben

I am convinced that boredom is one of the greatest tortures. If I were to imagine Hell, it would be the place where you were continually bored.

But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony--Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?

How senseless is everything that can ever be written, done, or thought, when such things are possible. It must be all lies and of no account when the culture of a thousand years could not prevent this stream of blood being poured out, these torture-chambers in their hundreds of thousands. A hospital alone shows what war is.

Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony—Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?

Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades - words, words, but they hold the horror of the world.

But first we have to discuss the emotional situation, and to understand that this deed, though it manifests itself as the coming of light, and as the creation of the world and of consciousness, is vitiated by a sense of suffering and loss so strong as almost to offset the creative gain.

Who understands war: the solders? the homeless ones? Mussolini? Or the leaders of the English and the Americans? No, nobody understands war, they only think they do. Maybe the earth that drinks up the blood understands it and says: "How foolish is man. Of all the animals that lives upon me, he is the cleverest and the most foolish.

None was to touch any one's property on the way. They were to bear it patiently if any official or non-official European met them and abused or even flogged them. They were to allow themselves to be arrested if the police offered to arrest them.

But no jagged simile, no disjointed paragraph can come close to describing real pain. Pain is its own language. Each description feels false, decorative, like I'm pouring watercolors into the crater of a bomb site (see, I'm failing even now).

It must be hard to survive without anything at all.

now I know that my punishment from starclan is not that the other kits died but that this one survived" -yellowfang

You have no idea how much pain I'm in. It's like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can't understand how any of you failed to see the blood....

Brightpaw's eye opened and she fixed a cloudy gaze on Fireheart. "What happened?" he repeated. "What did this?" A thin wailing came from Brightpaw, which gradually formed into words. Fireheart stared at her in horror as he made out what she was trying to say. "Pack, pack," she whispered. "Kill, kill.

I did nothing wrong, and yet I have lost everything!

Upset? I'm not upset. You have no idea how much pain I'm in. It's like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can't understand how any of you failed to see the blood....

He hoped the white cat would not have to suffer the pain he had felt when Spottedleaf died, or Graystripe's when he lost Silverstream.

Cinderpaw rolled onto her back with a dramatic moan. "Suffering can do that to a cat!" Fireheart prodded her stomach with a paw, and Cinderpaw squeaked before scrambling back onto her side.

We're not weak," Tigerstar snapped. "I'm not letting Rowankit suffer for the sake of ShadowClan pride.

Willowpelt agrees with young Graystripe," Bluestar declared. "A thaw is on the way." Graystripe lifted his chin and flashed a defiant look at Fireheart, but Fireheart didn't care. Bluestar was going to call off the raid! Now Graystripe wouldn't have to choose between his Clan and Silverstream, and Fireheart wouldn't have to join a raiding party against a Clan he knew was already suffering.

listening to she-cats moaning on about their sickly kits.

I really am only one infinitely small part of an aching humanity. It's a good thing most people bleed on the inside or this would be a gory, blood-smeared earth.

I couldn't stand here, hanging on, when the very thing I held disappeared more with each passing day.

Any happiness, no matter how brief, seemed better than the long, simmering torture of waking up day after day, knowing I could never have him.