Quotes About Suffering

Oh, gods, gods, why do you punish me? . . . Yes, no doubt, this is it, this is it again, the invincible, terrible illness . . . hemicrania, when half of the head aches . . . there's no remedy for it, no escape . . . I'll try not to move my head . . .

Oh, soltanto colui che è stato vinto sa che significhi questa parola! Essa assomiglia a una sera in una casa in cui si sia guastata la luce elettrica, assomiglia a una stanza sulle cui tappezzerie si diffonde una muffa verde piena di vita insana. Assomiglia a dei bambini rachitici indemoniati, all'olio marcio, a una bestemmia oscena pronunciata da voci femminili nell'oscurità. Insomma, assomiglia alla morte.

Nu-i aÈ™a c? [durerea] e perfect fireasc? chiar È™i atunci când omul È™tie c? la cap?tul acestui drum îl aÈ™teapt? fericirea?

Gods, gods! How sad the evening earth! How mysterious the mists over the bogs! Whoever has wandered in these mists, whoever suffered deeply before death, whoever flew over this earth burdened beyond human strength knows it. The weary one knows it. And he leaves without regret the mists of the earth, its swamps and rivers, and yields himself with an easy heart to the hands of death, knowing that it alone can bring surcease.

She must either forget him or die herself. It was impossible to go on like this. Impossible! She must forget him, forget him at any cost! But she could not forget him, that was the trouble.

But there were other victims as well, even after Woland left the capital, and these victims, sadly enough, were black cats.

Umutsuzluk ise ba???lanmaz bir günahkârl?kt?r.

To the sound of his unbroken sobbing and the woman's groans I managed, if the truth be known, to break the baby's arm. The child was born dead. God, how the sweat ran down my back! For an instant I somehow imagined that some huge, grim, black figure would appear and burst into the cottage, saying in a stony voice: 'Aha! Take away his degree!

Tell me, does it amuse you very much to torture me? I ought to hate you. since I've known you, you've brought me nothing but suffering me.. Her voice trembled, she leaned towards head upon my breast. Perhaps that's why you loved me, I thought. Moments of happiness one forgets, but sorrow never.

Por supuesto, para abstenerse de beber, intentaba convencerse a sí mismo de que todas las desgracias en el mundo son resultado de una borrachera.

How could she feel nostalgia when he was right in front of her? How can you suffer from the absence of a person who is present? You can suffer nostalgia in the presence of the beloved if you glimpse a future where the beloved is no more

Living, there is no happiness in that. Living: carrying one's painful self through the world. But being, being is happiness. Being: Becoming a fountain, a fountain on which the universe falls like warm rain.

B]ut pain doesn't listen to reason, it has it's own reason, which is not reasonable.

The basis of the self is not thought but suffering, which is the most fundamental of all feelings. While it suffers, not even a cat can doubt its unique and uninterchangeable self. In intense suffering the world disappears and each of us is alone with his self. Suffering is the university of ego-centrism.

Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.

I am not worthy of my suffering. A great sentence. It suggests not only that suffering is the basis of the self, its sole indubitable ontological proof, but also that it is the one feeling most worthy of respect; the value of all values.

The day after his father left, Franz and his mother went into town together, and as they left home Franz noticed that her shoes did not match. He was in a quandary: he wanted to point out the mistake, but was afraid he would hurt her. So, during the two hours they spent walking through the city together he kept his eyes focused on her feet. It was then he had his first inkling of what it means to suffer.

There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weights so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, with someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.

There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, for someone, pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echos.

But I'm not dead! Tereza cried. I can still feel! So can we, the corpses laughed.

Mesmerized, all she can do is watch this piece of her life move off; all she can do is watch it and suffer. She is experiencing a brand-new feeling called nostalgia. That feeling, that irrepressible yearning to return, suddenly reveals to her the existence of the past, the power of the past, of her past; in the house of her life […] from now on her existence will be inconceivable without these feelings.

Mankind's true moral test, its fundamental test (which lies deeply buried from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals. And in this respect mankind has suffered a fundamental debacle, a debacle so fundamental that all others stem from it.

Even a life of suffering has a mysterious value. Even a life on the threshold of death is a thing of splendor. Anyone who has not looked death in the face does not know this, but I know it ...

And Jakub realized that this child had done no harm, that he was not guilty of anything, and yet had been born with bad eyes and would have them forever. And he reflected further that what he had held against others was something given, something they came into the world with and carried with them like a heavy wire fence. He reflected that he had no privileged right to high-mindedness and that the highest degree of high-mindedness is to love people even though they are murderers.