Quotes About Torment

He holds me so tightly I can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a moth. An echo, the last bit of spirit still tethered to my body. A torment.

He became the terrible craving, he became the thing he was doing, he became the itch, the bite, the sting, the torment, the horror, he became the loathing that refused to stop doing what it loathed to do. He became the shapeless mouth that—

My heart aches, a drowsy numbness pains as if of hemlock I had drunk.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust. Love in a palace is perhaps at last More grievous torment than a hermit's fast.

A tormented mind wants to forget, what a broken heart will always remember.

I'm tormented, I'm crushed, I don't know what to do. I'm confused, I'm lost, I totally got no clue. I know I love you. Yeah, that's true. But when will you start loving me too?

Mi tiene così stretto che riesco a sentire il debole battito del suo petto, come le ali di una falena. Un'eco, l' ultimo brandello di spirito ancora imbrigliato al mio corpo. Un tormento.

It's as if some master perfumer and necromancer had foreseen all the broken promises of your life to come, all the pangs of unrequited love and unreturned letters; the torment of watching a phone that never rings; the bright expectancy of fresh hope at breakfast, in ruins by sunset ... it was as if he took all these things and blended them into a single fragrance and called it whatever the French is for Disappointment — Désolé or Chagrin or something.

Agony does not vanish with time. Time does not heal. Time may wear away the sharper pangs of torment and it may be that the agony is a remembered agony, but the littlest remembrance brings vividly alive the reality of pain. Time sifts a little dust over the wounds that is blown away by the simplest reminder. Agony remains.

De todos esos que parecen tan alegres, ninguno habrá que no tenga su demonio que le martirice.

Our cruellest adversaries are not those who contradict and try to convince us, but those who exaggerate or invent things that are liable to distress us, taking care not to present them in a justifiable light, which would diminish our distress and perhaps lead us to entertain some slight respect for an attitude they are anxious to display to us, to complete our torment, as being both hideous and unassailable.

Later on, absence taught me far more bitter lessons: that you get accustomed to absence, that the greatest abatement of the self, the most humiliating torment is to feel that you are no longer tormented by absence.

Françoise had not yet grasped that our cruelest adversaries are not those who contradict and try to convince us, but those who exaggerate or invent things that are likely to distress us, taking care not to present them in any justifiable light, which would diminish our distress and perhaps lead us to entertain some slight respect for an attitude they are anxious to display to us, to complete our torment, as being both hideous and unassailable.

Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

Confounded, though immortal. But his doom, reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought both of lost happiness and lasting pain torments him.

The happy place Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy -- Rather inflames thy torment, representing Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable; So never more in Hell than when in Heaven.

Only supreme in misery!

But his doom 54: Reserv'd him to more wrath; for now the thought 55: Both of lost happiness and lasting pain 56: Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes 57: That witness'd huge affliction and dismay 58: Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:

Then to submit, boasting I could subdue Th' Omnipotent. Ay me, they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vaine, Under what torments inwardly I groane; While they adore me on the Throne of Hell, With

The mind is its own place, and in it self Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.

Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell

Wait...The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

Under what torments inwardly I groan, While they adore me on the throne of hell. With diadem and sceptre high advanced, The lower still I fall, only supreme In misery. Such joy ambition finds.

Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements, these piercing Fires As soft as now severe, our temper chang'd Into their temper; which must needs remove.