Quotes About Suffering

In questa terra oscura, senza peccato e senza redenzione, dove il male non è morale, ma è un dolore terrestre, che sta per sempre nelle cose, Cristo non è disceso. Cristo si è fermato ad Eboli.

Perdida ya toda esperanza de alcanzar una vida mejor en este mundo, la gente fue depositando cada vez más sus esperanzas en la vida del más allá, y la idea de obtener recompensas en el cielo la ayudó a soportar la falta de pimienta en esta tierra.

Life is will-to-live, will is a lack, lack is pain, all life is pain.

Because everything that begins must end. What causes us to suffer is not in the past or the future: it is here, now, in our memory, in our expectations. We long for timelessness, we endure the passing of time: we suffer time. Time is suffering.

I do not fear death. I fear suffering. And I fear old age, though less so now that I am witnessing the tranquil and pleasant old age of my father. I am afraid of frailty, and of the absence of love. But death does not alarm me. It did not scare me when I was young, and I thought at the time that this was because it was such a remote prospect. But now, at sixty, the fear has yet to arrive. I love life, but life is also struggle, suffering, pain. I think of death as akin to a well-earned rest.

We are made of the same stardust of which all things are made, and when we are immersed in suffering or when we are experiencing intense joy, we are being nothing other than what we can't help but be: a part of our world.

What causes us to suffer is not in the past or the future: it is here, now, in our memory, in our expectations. We long for timelessness, we endure the passing of time: we suffer time. Time is suffering.

It's suffering because we must lose what we have and are attached to. Because everything that begins must end. What causes us to suffer is not in the past or the future: it is here, now, in our memory, in our expectations. We long for timelessness, we endure the passing of time: we suffer time. Time is suffering.

Because it is nothing but a fleeting structure of the world, an ephemeral fluctuation in the happening of the world, that which is capable of giving rise to what we are: beings made of time. That to which we owe our being, giving us the precious gift of our very existence, allowing us to create the fleeting illusion of permanence that is the origin of all our suffering.

Hay que sufrir por amor, y disfrutar el amor que daña.

Por isso mesmo, um dia ou outro nós nos surrávamos a frio, sem qualquer motivo, porque o lombo carece sofrer, e há um certo prazer em curar ferida.

I could tell you it's the heart, but what is really killing him is loneliness. Memories are worse than bullets.

Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.

If I were to locate and then identify all the hellish things we all have to go through in life in order to uncover one minute of happiness, it would take up a lot of space.

I haven't got time for the pain.

I thought that any joy in my life had to be paid for with something unpleasant. Perhaps this was a fatal law.

No sé cuántas horas estuve sin dormir, con los ojos abiertos y resecos recogiendo todos los dolores que pululaban, vivos como gusanos, en las entrañas de la casa.

Me di cuenta de que podía soportarlo todo: el frío que calaba mis ropas gastadas, la tristeza de mi absoluta miseria, el sordo horror de aquella casa sucia. Todo menos su autoridad sobre mí. Era aquello lo que me había ahogado al llegar a Barcelona, lo que me había hecho caer en la abulia, lo que mataba mis iniciativas;

La verdad duele, pero lo que más duele es el engaño.

Rather than using pain as a motivator to accurately examine our lives, assume responsibility for our choices, and use our personal power for change, we often glorify the experience of suffering itself. Suffering is always unproductive when we're caught in the Victim Trap. For

C'est la vie. When I got ill, it hurt like hell. I bought a kidney with my credit card, then I got well. I keep Faust's secret still –the clever, cunning, callous bastard didn't have a soul to sell.

The Devil was evil, mad, but I was the Devil's wife which made me worse. I howled in my cell. If the Devil was gone then how could this be hell?

Giving birth is like taking your lower lip and forcing it over your head.

Why should I, why should anyone, expect her to go on fighting in this way, torn apart, minute by minute? Although I want her to live, I do not believe I have the right to impose it on her, to demand it. Struggling to find a response to her cries for help, one which does not deny her pain or collude with it, I say no one who cares about her would ask her to do what is too difficult.