Quotes About Suffering

L'odieuse créature qui n'avait jamais aimé personne l'adorait inexplicablement, lui appartenait corps et âme, jouissait d'être rossé par lui et aurait fait calciner sa fille pour lui plaire.

el huesped septuagenario del número 12, investido alternativamente de gloria y de ignominia, permanecía estancado al costado de su hija -en la inalterable serenidad del atardecer de su existencia- como un guiñapo de hospital en la orilla de la cloaca.

Dieu avait chassé l'homme du Paradis terrestre. L'homme aujourd'hui chasse Dieu de toute la terre. A développer. (11 oct. 1909)

There is not a trace of blood anywhere except here, in my throat, where I am telling you all this.

Katherine, after all, had a way of turning all her feelings into food for the demons.

Patton was bombed, strafed, shelled—but he thrived on it. At the summit of a badly littered road over a hill he stopped to survey the scarred and scorched landscape of war—rubbish that used to be farms, fields in which the grass was burning, hundreds of stiff-legged, dead cattle. He threw out his arms as if trying to embrace the scene, and shouted to the sky, "Could anything be more magnificent?!

Každý sen je masochistní.

Do you know the feeling, when your heart is so hurt, that you could feel the blood dripping?

Frivolity is the species' refusal to suffer.

but pain is a private business

let us leave this land, where we have met nothing but ill luck and misery, and which resembles nothing so much as a great test of our faith and a punishment for our sins.

There is a great deal of pain in life and perhaps the only pain that can be avoided is the pain that comes from trying to avoid pain.

How much does your life have to suck to want the Apocalypse?

You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?

It was cruel. Like opening a birdcage to let the bird fly out, whilst all the while it's tethered by the leg, and freedom is only an illusion.

magic was ugly—-a hard bargain with the universe, a calculus of pain.

The world was carnage. You either suffered it or inflicted it.

These soldiers had done what they had done, and been done unto in return. This was how it went. In the cycle of slaughter, reprisal begat reprisal, forever.

And so Grief and Shame abided in adjoining rooms with the door shut between them, holding their pain in their arms instead of each other.

It was the hate of the used and tormented, who are the children of the used and tormented, and whose own children will be used and tormented.

A wave of weariness took him. How could life be so unrelentingly ugly?

Long life is a burden, when it's spent in misery.

There is intimacy in pain. Anyone who has comforted a sufferer knows it—the helpless tenderness, the embrace and murmur and slow rocking together as two become one against the enemy, pain

This was a game that kill could not win—or, if it did, it would be an unbearable win that destroyed the very meaning of winning.