Quotes About Pain

Almost the whole of history is but a sequence of horrors.

History is a bath of blood.

It is one of history's greatest ironies that, over the centuries, the pursuit of pleasure has resulted in more pain than enjoyment.

Pain is beyond reason, an obliterating giant stupidity to which all your history of jokes and nuance and ideas and caresses is nothing, simply nothing.

This is my history; like all other histories, a narrative of misery.

The history of a soldier's wound beguiles the pain of it.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go.

I am an unwilling devil. I cry like some vagrant child. I want to go home.

Half to forget the wandering and pain, Half to remember days that have gone by, And dream and dream that I am home again!

She wants to go home, but nobody's home. That's why she lies, broken inside. With no place to go, no place to go, to dry her eyes, broken inside.

Animals on factory farms all face pain and fear, just like the animals we share our homes with, yet are repeatedly abused in shocking ways.

I'm just going to crumble like a wreck. I'll go home, become an alcoholic and maybe! jump of a bridge.

People give pain, are callous and insensitive, empty and cruel...but place heals the hurt, soothes the outrage, fills the terrible vacuum that these human beings make.

Needle and thread flesh and bone Spit and sinew, heartbreak is home. Your suture lines, they sparkle like diamonds Bright stars to light my confinement "Stitch.

This was nostalgia in the literal Greek sense: the pain of not being able to return to one's home and family.

It's not easy to find a topic. Talking of home is painful. Talking of the present unbearable.

Sometimes the people closest to you betray you, and your home isn't a place you can be happy anymore.

Contemplating Christmas when you are isolated and far from home brings its own unique pain.

There weren't any fairy tales in the streets around me. If there was ever a Cinderella, her glass slippers shattered under her weight and she limped home bleeding from the ball.

So many I considered, closest to me,turned on a dime and sold me out dutifully,although that knife was chipping away at me,they turned their eyes away and went home to sleep.

Home is where the heartache is.

Levin scowled. The humiliation of his rejection stung him to the heart, as though it were a fresh wound he had only just received. But he was at home, and at home the very walls are a support.

The coward wretch whose hand and heart Can bear to torture aught below, Is ever first to quail and start From the slightest pain or equal foe.

The beautiful thing about pain is that it evokes honesty.