Quotes About Torment

All that was really there was still more misery -- oh yes! as much of that as you like.

Pain both ways and what is worse?

Look at him, look how he drips unhealth—shudder object!

Pain and guilt tore through him. His soul was bleeding to death. He stood there, waiting to die. How could he not? But such wounds were not fatal.

The migraine is a beast from Hell, a bone-crushing, brain-twisting, heart-rending, apocalyptic scourge—an insult to all that's holy.

Dio mio possibile che non riuscisse a pensare ad altro? la mente era fissa lì, sempre sullo stesso argomento tormentoso, e all'altezza del palazzo di Brera lo prese lo sgomento perché in questo preciso istante ha capito di essere completamente infelice senza nessuna possiblità di rimedio, una cosa assurda e idiota, tuttavia così vera e intensa che non trovava più requie.

The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.

but this is another love—it goes everywhere; there is no place for it to stop—it rots me away.

Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them. Stretch it as thin as the temple flesh of an ailing woman and still it serves to ache the bone and to move the bone about; and in like manner the night is a skin pulled over the head of day that may be in torment. We will find no comfort until the night melts away; until the fury of the night rots out its fire.

Our bones only ache while the flesh is on them. Stretch it thin as the temple flesh of an ailing woman and still it serves to ache the bone and to move the bone about; and in like manner the night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in a torment. We will find no comfort until the night melts away; until the fury of the night rots out its fire.

I have fallen into an abyss. I live in a world so curious, so strange. Of the dream that was my life, this is my nightmare.

I would rather have had someone shoot me in the head with a nail gun,

They are not really thoughts; they are memories that come to torment me in my weakness and put me into a strange mood. Up go

feeling." "No," she said. "I think it's hell on earth.

Affairs have their own brand of passion. Secrecy, torment, guilt, transgression, danger, risk, and jealousy are highly combustible, a Molotov cocktail, an erotic explosion far too threatening in a home with children.

My heart's like a wounded beast, clawing me in its death-throes . . . My stomach's a bottomless pit, my mouth a funnel of fire. Hunger and thirst, hunger and thirst . . .

I've longed for fulfillment and all I find is torment. I had to choose between peace and passion. I chose passion, fool that I was!

Have you no pity for him, our helpless son? Or me, and the destiny that weighs me down, your widow, now so soon? Yes, soon they will kill you off, all the Achaean forces massed for assault, and then bereft of you, better for me to sink beneath the earth. What other warmth, what comfort's left for me, once you have met your doom? Nothing but torment!

It is in the very nature of things that torments inflicted have no tendency to bring a wicked man to repentance. Then why torment him if it will not do him good? It is simply unadulterated revenge. All the punishment in the world will not reform a man, unless he knows that he who inflicts it upon him does it for the sake of reformation, and really and truly loves him, and has his good at heart.

He had been always escaping, always rebelling, always fighting against authority, and always being flogged. There had been a whole lifetime of torment such as this; forty-two years of it; and there he stood, speaking softly, arguing his case well, and pleading while the tears ran down his face for some kindness, for some mercy in his old age. 'I have tried to escape; always to escape,' he said, 'as a bird does out of a cage. Is that unnatural; is that a great crime?

Dying doesn't scare me, I'll be in hell. With Satan." – Richard Ramirez

Hope is a merciless tormentor. It's the sound of trickling water to parched lips. The prospect of love to the unlovable. A miracle cure to the parents of a dying child. It holds up victory over the inevitable and beckons us to crawl further over slicing shards, all the while pulling back, remaining just out of reach. It makes agony out of mere pain by pretending a different outcome could have been. It laughs at mankind's embrace of it after millennia of disappointment.

My mind's not right.A car radio bleats,"Love, O careless Love…. " I hearmy ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,as if my hand were at its throat….I myself am hell;nobody's here.

It is a very painful thing, having to part company with what torments you. And how mute the world is!