Quotes About Pain

Pain in the moment, and hope for the future. But sometimes the pain seems to yell, while hope only whispers.

To really know God, you have to wrestle through pain, struggle with honest doubts, and even live with unanswered questions. So while I won't promise you that God is your copilot or that the Bible says it and that settles it, I will promise you this: if you wrestle with him, seek him, cling to him, God will meet you in your pain.

Good habits are difficult to start because the pain comes now and the payoff is in the future. Bad habits are difficult to stop because the payoff comes now and the pain is in the future.

The question is: Will you choose the pain of discipline or the pain of regret?

Jesus!" "Are you hurt?" "Jesus!" "Walk down the hallway and come back when you have more vocabulary.

their child is dead? Sure

that the brutes of the field don't feel pain like humans. That that's the price we pay for thinking.

Comforting to know that we're the species that feels the most pain.

Hurt him. Hurt him and save him

Here she is at her kitchen table, fingering a jigsaw of thalidomide ginger, thinking about the arthritis in her hands.

The jery, impeded walk of a man stuck in a turnstile, admitted, and stuck in a turnstile, admitted, and stuck in a turnstile. He said it was rheumatoid arthritis. It looked as likely to be cancer of the prostrate metastatising to his hips.

No one is exempt and everyone's pain has a different smell. At night, when all the colours die, they hide in pairs and read about themselves— in colour, with their eyelids shut.

My world fell away from me. Agony stabbed my chest.

We experience a discomfort that may be foreign to others, but that pain opens up a world of beauty. Wouldn't you think?

The killing was the best part. It was the dying I couldn't take.

I had never had a childhood that was anything but a miserable effort at trying to be an adult," Picasso said.

You have robbed me of all the dignity I had for myself.

Pain is a beautiful thing. When you feel pain, you know you're alive.

I imagine these men sitting in fashion control centers around the world thinking of new ways to torture women, new ways to make them wince twenty years from now when they look at old photographs of themselves.

When someone dies, it doesn't leave a hole, and that's the agony.

I learned something about grief. When someone dies, it doesn't leave a hole, and that's the agony.

But ignorance manufactures denial. So though my eyes were sometimes black or swollen, my lips puffy or busted, though I often intentionally wore clothes that would hide the black and blue bruises scattered all over my body, or grit my teeth through the pain in an effort to walk so I could look as if nothing were wrong—when in fact my entire body was sore—I believed that as long as he didn't break any bones, it wasn't really violence.

As long as there is one single child on the cross of pain, and indignity, of suffering, and futurelessness, I will stand up and I will fight for that child—a crucified child is my child. That is what solidarity means: every child on a cross is my child.

She fuckin broke his heart. The heart too many had tried to carve right out of his chest. The heart he'd given to her two centuries before.