Quotes About Agony

Men we have never met took our son. They took him without our express permission. They tortured him then they … killed him. And there is no understanding it. There is no meaning. No coming to terms with it. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. We will wake up every day for the rest of our lives and we will breathe razor blades and we will swim through bleach. And there is no escape from this. There is no comfort. There is just … blades and bleach. Until we die.

If there is one sound the follows the march of humanity, it is the scream.

Life is a struggle, from the agonies of birth to the railing against death. Devour or be devoured. The law of the wild.

War. Such a little word, such a depth of agony. Blood, death, conquest, starvation, plague, and horror.

Now the screams were awful to hear as men burned like candles all along the deck. Black smoke billowed over the sea. Argurios could not believe what he was watching. At least fifty helpless men were dying in agony. One man managed to free himself and leap into the sea. Amazingly, when he surfaced the flames were still consuming him. All along the beach there was silence as the stunned crowd watched the magical fires burning the galley and it's crew.

There is a sermon in the fact that the gates are pearl. [Because] heaven is entered through suffering and travail, through redemption and blood, through the agony of the cross. A pearl is a jewel made by a little animal that is wounded. Without the wound, the pearl is never formed.5

Anger was a reliable defense, but one that allowed no chance of final victory. Anger was a medicine but never a cure, briefly numbing the pain without extracting the thorn that caused the agony.

It was a competition in agony. Like rich women in posh restaurants ordering ever-smaller salads.

Perhaps it is just as well to be rash and foolish for a while. If writers were too wise, perhaps no books would get written at all. It might be better to ask yourself 'Why?' afterward than before. Anyway, the force of somewhere in space which commands you to write in the first place, gives you no choice. You take up the pen when you are told, and write what is commanded. There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.

Kossula was no longer on the porch with me. He was squatting about that fire in Dahomey. His face was twitching in abysmal pain. It was a horror mask. He had forgotten that I was there. He was thinking aloud and gazing into the dead faces in the smoke. His agony was so acute that he became inarticulate. He never noticed my preparation to leave him. So I slipped away as quietly as possible and left him with his smoke pictures.

The icy sword of the square-toed one had cut off his breath and left his hands in a pose of agonizing protest.

Watching people see your picture for the first time is such a public agony.

Writing is agony. I hate it.

If you love a character that gets killed, it's agony.

Un largo rato nos miramos; una eternidad de silencio, durante el cual el recuerdo galopó hacia atrás entre derrumbamiento de nieve y caras agónicas. Pero la mirada de Enid era la vida misma, y presto entre el tercipelo húmedo de sus ojos y los míos no medió sino la dicha convulsiva de adorarnos. ¡Y nada más!

What is "love"? Is that... the true form of this agony? Is "love" the name you give to this pain?

Flesh, bodies, nerves, legs… things were getting all mixed up in his mind. It seemed to be filled with flesh, cloyed with the sweetish smell of flesh that is torn open and over which blood is pouring. It was his flesh, their flesh, lying about still alive, but dying, dying so slowly, dying so fast…

Agonía. Soledad del hombre en el sueño lleno de ascensores y trenes donde tú vas a velocidades inasibles. Soledad de los edificios, de las esquinas, de las playas, donde tú no aparecerás ya nunca.

Prue felt like someone had bored a hole in her stomach the size of a basketball

My poetry will consist only in the attack by all means in my power upon Man, that wild beast, and the Creator, who should never have created such vermin. Volumes shall pile upon volumes until the end of my life, but only that one idea will be found therein . . . that one thought ever present in my consciousness!

Keep her downstairs a minute!' I breathed desperately. I don't know why; you don't want your agonies of soul witnessed by a woman. ("Nightmare")

My world fell away from me. Agony stabbed my chest.

But I've struggled, like every foster child I've ever met, between two opposing agonies: she didn't want me, and I'm the one who left. The guilt, still, is immeasurable.

When someone dies, it doesn't leave a hole, and that's the agony.