Quotes About Suffering

You know, Willie, I never meant to hurt myself. I just didn't want the disease. I wouldn't do something against me. I don't think anybody ever does. You must know that, Willie. Everybody's just trying to stay safe. Even people who try to kill themselves, I bet they're still on their own sides, Willie. They just want to kill the pain. Everybody just wants to kill the pain.

He feels a seizing in his chest, a familiar searing pain. He tries to breathe around it, but it's too big. It radiates along his left arm, folds him in half, like he's a piece of trash too big for disposal.

And I think to myself, If you think having and losing is so bad, try never having. Now that's devastating.

But there was no way to slice it that did not feel like a loss. He would simply have to file it away with all the other things—both small and large—that should not have been asking too much from life, but which life had taken from him all the same.

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

Koschei, Koschei," she whispered. "What would I have been if I had never seen the birds? I am no one; I am nothing. I am a blank paper on which you and your magic wrote a girl. Just the kind of girl you wanted, all hungry and hurt and needing. A machine for loving you. Nothing in me was not made by you.

I thought: this is how you make a human being. A human being is beautiful and sick. A human being glitters and starves.

Night poured itself down my throat. Night was my wine and my meat. Night wed me and bedded me, widowed me and murdered me and resurrected me whole a thousand times over with each hour.

Let me tell you something, kid," said Mrs. H of Boston and Beacon Hill. "Magic is just a word for what's left to the powerless once everyone else has eaten their fill.

you lot would rather watch someone suffer untold horrors than watch them enjoy so much as a cool drink if you don't have two of your own, and yours have cherries in them as well as more ice and little paper umbrellas, and even then most of you would still prefer to take theirs and have three. This is not the behavior of a sentient race.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

He'll burn you down like wax if you let him. You'll think it's love, when he dines on your heart. And maybe it will be

Your love is a terrible thing," November says. "It sits heavy. It stings. It cuts." She shrugs. "I am Casimira." "I don't know if I can bear it." "I would not have chosen you if you could not. You will get stronger. You will grow calluses.

you lot would rather watch someone suffer untold horrors than watch them enjoy so much as a cool drink if you don't have two of your own, and yours have cherries in them as well as more ice and little paper umbrellas, and even then most of you would still prefer to take theirs and have three. This is not the behavior of a sentient race. It is the behavior of wild animals.

All time is mean young man. It takes and does not give, it rushes when you wish it would linger and drags when you wish is would fly. It flows sullenly, only in one direction, when it might take a thousand turns. You cannot get anything back once time has taken it. Time cheats and steals and lies and kills. If anyone could arrest it, they would have time behind bars faster than you can check your watch.

No, my son. Not she. I . I lay on the rocks and the sun gnawed at my flesh. I pleaded for my life with a useless stump of a tongue. I watched your precious Cveti close up my severed breasts in a silver box. And I listened to the soldiers praise her false name—Ghyfran! Ghyfran! The whore who betrayed her god for power. This body is new, but I am Ragnhild, first of my name, and I am the plague which will burn through the marrow of the Anointed City.

There is still a place in me, Masha, where my death once lay. I have a pain there, the way some men feel their legs long after they've been cut off at the knee. It is my pain, and I cannot share it. I would not, even if I could. I will age with you, if it will please you. I will match you, wrinkle for wrinkle, grey hair for grey hair, creak for creak, tumor for tumor. You will be so beautiful when you are old.

You will live as you live in any world,' Madame Lebedeva said. She reached out her hand as if to grasp Marya's, as if to press it to her cheek, then closed her fingers, as if Marya's hand were in hers. 'With difficulty, and grief.

I heard there's fire in hell, but I'll bet the devil just hands you a bucket and tells you to get moving, this place ain't gonna clean itself.

The only price in the world that matters is the one that hurts to pay.

Magic is just a word for what's left to the powerless once everyone else has eaten their fill.

I always die at the end," he whispers, and he is afraid now, his hands shaking. "It is always like this. It is never easy".

12. Suffering of any kind is and shall be considered - contraband.

Why…" Sophia raises her eyes to the ceiling, searching for a divinity that is not there, not for her. Her eyes fill up with hopelessness. She asks a question older than day and night. "Why doesn't He love me like He loves you?" Tears fall down her perfect face. "Why does He let you do this? Why won't He tell you to stop?