Quotes About Pain

It turned out that a conversation with Bonnie was just like being in labour: the pain could always get much, much worse. chapter fifty-three 'Ziggy is a lovely little boy,' said the psychologist.

her brother had not just gone into another room, he was gone, so gone, so silent, not a text not a post not a tweet not a word, and next thing she was struggling for breath and all she could think was, Get out.

dodgy knee of mine.

It could have been so much worse. He rarely hit her face. She'd never broken a limb or needed stitches. Her bruises could always be kept secret with a turtleneck or sleeves or long pants. He would never lay a finger on the children. The boys never saw. It could be worse. Oh, so much worse. She'd read the articles about proper domestic violence victims. That was terrible. That was real. What Perry did didn't count.

nothing truly hurts until it happens to you. Most of all, to your child.

It felt like another loss. Each time he thought he was doing well, avoiding the hope. Each time he told himself: I have no expectations, but with each new failure it hurt so much he understood the hope had been there after all, flitting seductively around his subconscious. It didn't get easier either. It got worse. A cumulative effect. Loss upon loss.

Not the angry, demanding cry of a child who wants attention, or the startled cry of a child who has hurt himself. This was a grown-up type of crying: involuntary, soft, sad, weeping.

All that we are is a result of what we have thought. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him. If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him. —Buddhist quote

Sometimes there was the pure, primal pain of grief, and other times there was anger, the frantic desire to claw and hit and kill, and sometimes, like right now, there was just ordinary, dull sadness, settling itself softly, suffocatingly over her like a heavy fog.

Was today the worst anniversary yet, or was it always this bad? It was probably always this bad. It was so easy to forget how bad things were. Like winter. Like the flu. Like childbirth.

Last Thursday night she was leading a soft, muffled, pain-free little life. This Thursday night felt like adolescence: exquisitely painful and sharply beautiful.

You think terrible things happened on the battlefields, but terrible things happened in ordinary suburban homes.

If only you were born a hundred years ago, when you could have gone through days of natural labour before bleeding naturally to death,

there was real pain in the world, right this very moment people were suffering unimaginable atrocities and you couldn't close your heart completely, but you couldn't leave it wide open either, because otherwise how could you possibly live your life, when through pure, random luck you got to live in paradise? You had to register the existence of evil, do the little that you could, and then close your mind and think about new shoes.

It was so easy to forget how bad things were. Like winter. Like the flu. Like childbirth.

Suicide is the dumbest possible way of getting revenge. Why is that? Because the people you want to strike back at are the very same folks who won't even remember you a week after you're gone, while the people you want to spare most -- the people who love you -- are the ones who will have to live with the pain of your suicide for the rest of their lives.

I seen nights full of pain, days of the same.

I search, but never find. Hurt, but never cry. I work and forever tired.

Pull out the AK and pop you in your funny bone.

I dont want a broken heart; cause Ill lose all the pieces.

I should cherish life, but this aint paradise.

I'm getting really tired of bleeding. Someone stop the world, I want to get off.

That's the funny thing about old hurts- they just wait for new heartache to come along and then show up, just as sharp and horrible as the first day you woke up with the world changed all around you.

Graves scooched a little closer to me, and I didn't even think about it. I put my arms around him and hugged. I didn't care if it hurt my arm and my ribs and my neck and pretty much every other part of me, my heart most of all. When you're wrecked, that's the only thing to do, right? Hold onto whatever you can. Hold on hard .