Quotes About Pain

My left hand trembling cut the flesh of my calves to drain the fear from my walk

Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?

Dying makes everyone weaker, subject to painful insight, and not always insight into any kind of special truth - it's just the approaching end that makes people want to believe they are seeing something in the line of a great revelation.

What a terrible thing life can be.

Rita was almost as badly damaged as I am.

I felt wrapped in a fog of dull pain that hurt only enough to remind me that it, too, was without purpose, and there seemed no point to going through the empty motions of breakfast, the long slow drive to work, no reason at all beyond the slavery of habit. But

Is that really a good idea?" I asked. He tilted his head at Vince's conga line, which was collapsing in a heap of spastic hilarity. "Is that?" he said. And of course he had a point, although in terms of sheer lethal pain and terror a conga line on the floor couldn't really compete with Dr. Danco. Still, I suppose one has to consider human dignity, if it truly exists somewhere.

Just one more small sign that Poor Old Dexter was drifting off into Deep Water. Making that last painless transition from sociopath to psychopath.

Mere rest was no longer enough, and I didn't think I could face the couch again anyway. So I did the only thing I could, the last pitiful choice left to me in this world of pain and dwindling options. I left the lobby and stood outside beside what had once been my room, standing in a miserable bovine stupor until forensics finally finished. Then I went in and put on a shirt, grabbed my few sad belongings, and used my phone to call a cab.

Dying makes everyone weaker, subject to painful insight, and not always insight into any kind of special truth—it's just the approaching end that makes people want to believe they are seeing something in the line of a great revelation.

The rest of her seemed to be just as thoroughly ravaged; her nipple was missing, apparently chewed away like the ear, and her stomach had been slit open right below the navel. I could see at least three wounds that might have killed her, and a dozen more that would have been horrible enough to make death seem like a good idea.

Being dead doesn't hurt at all. It's being alive that hurts. And it's a lot more dangerous than being dead, too.

Tis only those who have never heard a shot, never heard the shriek and groans of the wounded or lacerated…that cry aloud for more blood, more vengeance, more desolation.

The pain, you know. It's one hell of a way to die.

I said evenly, "Loving's low-tech. Usually he uses sandpaper and alcohol on sensitive parts of the body. Doesn't sound too bad but it works real well." I

And in this sleek silver needle, Percey Clay felt herself flying into the heart of the sky, leaving behind the cumbersome, the heavy, the painful. Leaving behind Ed's death and Brit's, leaving behind even that terrible man, the devil, the Coffin Dancer. All of the hurt, all of the uncertainty, all of the ugliness were trapped far below her, and she was free.

And if it took awhile, that means she was in pain for a long time.

Stanton clawed his way to the bedside table and managed to grab his knife. He jabbed it into Rhyme. Once, twice. But the only places he could reach were the criminalist's legs and arms. It's pain that incapacitates and pain was one thing to which Lincoln Rhyme was immune.

SHE ONLY stopped screaming when she died. It was then that he started to scream. The

that often the onlooker suffers even more than the participant.

Silence empowers us. Stilling the chatter and clamor of our minds and our worries about life, we find the focus and clarity needed to end pain, alienation, oppression, and fear" (Feldman 2003, 26).

Approaching the pain with kindness and compassion is crucial. Meeting pain with anger does not help. Meeting fear or anxiety in oneself with anger or hostility simply multiplies it.

The first is that they subjugate themselves out of guilt, or because they want to relieve the pain of others; and the second is that they subjugate because they anticipate rejection, retaliation, or abandonment. These reasons correspond to two types of subjugation.

He remained heartbroken, which meant one of two things: either his love was pure and true and earthshakingly significant; or he was addicted to feeling forlorn, he liked being heartbroken.