Quotes About Pain

Your husband will beat you with an extension cord and the bus will pull away leaving you standing there in tears, but you were my mother.

I don't remember what I said to them. I remember loneliness crushing first my lungs. Then my heart. Then my balls.

It wasn't my life she was after, it was more. She wanted to eat my heart, and be lost in the desert with what she'd done, she wanted to fall on her knees and give birth from it, she wanted to hurt me as only a child can be hurt by its mother.

She looked up out of her voice and saw the angel.…and the entire message had no words. The entire message will be only the beat and direction of time. Yes is Now. The angel who says, "It's time." "Is it time?" she asked. "Does it hurt?" He will have the most beautiful face she has ever seen. "Oh, babe." The angel starts to cry. "You can't imagine," he said.

We rolled up the pain, assigned it to a shelf, left it there, with a certain self-congratulatory sense of relief at our own good fortune as we looked the other way [...] and soon, we forgot we had ever felt any discomfort.

He had no idea what missing was. Missing was lying in the dampness of your tears night after night. Missing was a constant hollow spot in the center of your chest. Missing was a yawning ache that was never satisfied.

Life is a gift, however long it lasts. It's God's to give and take away as He sees fit. We go through life thinking we're entitled to our ninety, but we're not entitled to anything. All we can do is trust that He knows what He's doing. That He has a plan for all of us, and that no pain He allows in our life will go unused.

Grief is a scar. The tissue is tough and when it's cut again, it heals poorly.

Jesus is true to His Word: He will deliver us from every one of our pains and sorrows.

As we experience life throughout the years, the truth is that our heart gets broken—not like a broken bone per se, but wounds and offenses block aspects of our heart, cutting us off from feeling certain emotions or connecting with God.

What molds us is what maims us.

She died in a fire. I miss her like you... If I was underwater, I wouldn't miss oxygen that much.

Grief, I swear to God, doesn't live in the heart. It lives in the senses. And sometimes, all I want to do is cut off my nose so I can't smell her, hack my fingers off at the joint.

And often the worst thing wasn't the victims--they were dead, after all, and beyond any more pain. The worst thing was those who loved them and survived them. Often the walking dead from now on, shell-shocked, hearts ruptured, stumbling through the remainder of their lives without anything left inside of them but blood and organs, impervious to pain, having learned nothing except that the worst things did, in fact, sometimes happen. (Mystic River)

scarred by wisdom she'd never asked for.

Driving down 93, I realized once and for all, that I love the things that chafe. The things that fill me with stress so total I can't remember when a block of it didn't rest on top of my heart. I love what, if broken, can't be repaired. What, if lost can't be replaced. I love my burdens.

But as the years passed, he missed her more not less, and his need for her became a cut that would not scar over, would not stop leaking.

Another long pull of the sawteeth across the pink folds of his brain, and Teddy had to bite down against a scream and he heard Rachel's screams in there too with the fire and he saw her looking into his eyes and felt her breath on his lips and felt her face in his hands as his thumbs caressed her temples and that fucking saw went back and forth through his head— don'ttakethosefuckingpills

and two men standing up top, weeping like children because they'd somehow never known the world could get this bad.

Because truth hurts, truth costs, truth upends your world.

I will not dream anymore, you said. I will not set myself up for the pain. But then your team made the playoffs, or you saw a movie, or a billboard glowing dusky orange and advertising Aruba, or a girl who bore more than a passing resemblance to a woman you'd dated in high school—a woman you'd loved and lost—danced above you with shimmering eyes, and you said, fuck it, let's dream just one more time.

Brendan looked at the card. He kept his eyes on it when he said, "I loved her so much. I…I ain't ever going to feel that again. I mean, it don't happen twice, right?" He looked up at Whitey and Sean. His eyes were dry, but the pain in them was something Sean wanted to duck from. "It don't happen once, most cases," Whitey said.

El tema, escribió él, es el dolor. Cuánto acumulo, cuánto esquivo.

and it blew open a chamber of her heart that refuses to close no matter how hard she presses down on it.