Quotes About Suffering

Oriunde m-aÈ™ fi alfat (...) aÈ™ fi stat sub acelaÈ™i clopot de sticl?, fierbând în propriul meu aer st?tut.

Once they'd even brought the minister of the Unitarian church, whom I'd never really liked at all. He was terribly nervous the whole time, and I could tell he thought I was crazy as a loon, because I told him I believed in hell, and that certain people, like me, had to live in hell before they died, to make up for missing out on it after death, since they didn't believe in life after death, and what each person believed happened to him when he died.

Cuanto más incurable se vuelve, más lejos lo esconden a uno.

We'll take up where we left off, Esther', she had said, with her sweet martyr's smile. 'We'll act as if all this were a bad dream.' A bad dream. To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything. ... Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.

After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture-chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and on all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces.

What love did then, love does now: Gnaws me through.

I cannot run, I am rooted, and the gorse hurts me With its yellow purses, its spiky armoury. I could not run without having to run forever.

I wanted to tell her that if only something were wrong with my body it would be fine, I would rather have anything wrong with my body than wrong with my head, but the idea seemed so wrong and wearisome that I didn't say anything. I only burrowed down further in the bed.

If I could bleed, or sleep! If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

I tried to think what I had loved knives for, but my mind slipped from the noose of the thought and swung, like a bird, in the center of empty air.

Kafamda ak?l nam?na ne kalm??sa onu kullanarak bedenimi tuzaÄŸa düÅŸürmem gerekiyordu, yoksa beni elli y?l boyunca o ahmak kafesinde hiçbir anlam? olmayan bir yaÅŸama mahkûm edecekti.

Një ëndërr e keqe. Për njeriun që gjendet brenda këmbanës së qelqtë, i zbrazët dhe i bllokuar si një foshnjë e vdekur, vetë bota është një ëndërr e keqe.

And I thought of how my mother and brother and friends would visit me, day after day, hoping I would be better. Then their visits would slacken off, and they would give up hope. They would grow old. They would forget me... The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.

I also hate people to ask cheerfully how you are when they know you're feeling like hell and expect you to say "Fine.

She had just smiled and said what a merciful thing it was for him he had died, because if he had lived he would have been crippled and an invalid for life, and he couldn't have stood that, he would rather have died than had that happen.

A bad dream. To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything.

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream

I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.

Something is gone. My sleeping capsule, my red and blue zeppelin Drops me from a terrible altitude. Carapace smashed, I spread to the beaks of birds.

I remembered a worrisome course in the Victorian novel where woman after woman died, palely and nobly, in torrents of blood, after a difficult childbirth.

Then something bent down and took hold of me and shook me like the end of the world. Whee-ee-ee-ee-ee, it shrilled, through an air crackling with blue light, and with each flash a great jolt drubbed me till I thought my bones would break and the sap fly out of me like a split plant. I wondered what terrible thing it was I had done.

The stony actors poise and pause for breath. I brought my love to bear, and then you died. It was the gangrene ate you to the bone My mother said; you died like any man. How shall I age into that state of mind? I am the ghost of an infamous suicide, My own blue razor rusting in my throat. O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at Your gate, father—your hound-bitch, daughter, friend. It was my love that did us both to death.

Le dije que creía en el infierno, y que ciertas personas, como yo, tenían que vivir en el infierno antes de morir, para compensarlo por perderlo después de la muerte, ya que no creían en la vida después de la muerte, y qué cada persona creyó que eso es lo que le pasaba cuando moría.

It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves. I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.