Quotes About Suffering

Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

Approaching his cottage By crooked detour, He hears the gruff knocking Of the wolf at the door. His wife and his children Hang riddled with shot, There's a hex on the cradle And death in the pot.

I need a father, I need a mother, I need some old, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God but the sky is empty.

O, only left to myself, what a poet I will flay myself into.

In life, love gnawed my skin To this white bone; What love did then, love does now: Gnaws me through.

I am a wound walking out of hospital. I am a wound that they are letting go

My health is making stories, poems, novels, of experience: that is why, or, rather, that is why it is good, that I have suffered & been to hell, although not to all the hells. I cannot life for life itself: but for the words which stay the flux.

Cuándo llegará el momento en que el Tiempo se quiebre, Y la eternidad lo engulla, y yo me hunda del todo?

the razor slitting the stomach, and the life throbbing away, red flood by red flood - I lay crouched, kneeling on the khaki quilt on the living room floor where there was air

They had an efficiency, a great beauty, And were extravagant, like torture.

it is something even to live through hours of obligation now, without screaming: gently, gently, stoic one.

Hell is oneself, Hell is alone.

A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.

I am moved by fancies that are curled, around these images and cling, the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.

I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling: The notion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing. Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The crying and the shouting Prison and place and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience

I see the eyes but not the tears This is my affliction.

Human kind Cannot bear very much reality. - Burnt Norton

They know and do not know, that acting is suffering And suffering is action. Neither does the actor suffer Nor the patient act. But both are fixed To an eternal action, an eternal patience To which all must consent that it may be willed And which all must suffer that they may will it, That the pattern may subsist, for the pattern is the action And the suffering, that the wheel may turn and still Be forever still.

We have only to conquer Now, by suffering. This is the easier victory. Now is the triumph of the cross.

Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality.

You have gone through life in sleep, Never woken to the nightmare. I tell you, life would be unendurable If you were wide awake.

Whatever you have learned, Harry, you must remember That there is always more: we cannot rest in being The impatient spectators of malice or stupidity. We must try to penetrate the other private worlds Of make-believe and fear. To rest in our own suffering Is evasion of suffering. We must learn to suffer more.

One thing you cannot know: The sudden extinction of every alternative, The unexpected crash of the iron cataract. You do not know what hope is, until you have lost it. You only know what it is not to hope: You do not know what it is to have hope taken from you Or to fling it away, to join the legion of the hopeless Unrecognized by other men, though sometimes by each other.