Quotes About Pain

The terrible thing about pain is that it doesn't matter, it still hurts. It hurts like hell.

I've never seen grief like it. Grief like that, it's like an animal. She's not eating. She's not sleeping. She's whimpering. She's sluggish. She's not herself

It hurts," she said. "If I do it right, and I go slow and shallow, it really hurts. Like getting stung by wasps, or pulling off a hangnail that's the size of your thumb, and all of it is happening in slow motion.

When I cut, I'm the one controlling the pain. I know where it's coming from. I know that it's me who's doing it, me and no one else.

All that mattered was the blood. She had to bleed out the badness, bleed until she could breathe again.

You've loved with intensity and passion, and have learned to hide your heartache, learned to press your handkerchief back into your pocket and pretend that you are okay.

Whatever they were, she sat on the kerb, folded them tight in her fist, and the sobs gashed their way through her chest, surging against the flesh of her face, bursting out through her mouth and into the rain.

Aunt Isabelle fractured her ankle once while gardening

Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best?

I felt as if this pain would never be appeased, that it had me in its grip for ever, that it would prevent me from devoting myself to anything else, and that I was allowing it to do so. I think that is what they call being consumed with remorse.

I received that caress several times - the only one I was able to tolerate - the silent gratitude of a woman receiving death at my hands. None wanted to endure pain and I think they were in a hurry to die. I don't know how many I killed - I who count everything, that was one thing I didn't count.

Nowhere in this novel is exploitation, pain for the sake of pain, or needless cruelty. The entire novel manages to balance its elegant philosophical concerns with also being an amazing feat of human tenderness.

Inevitably, with memory comes pain.

She pulled into a fetal position, covered her head with the road atlas, and cried with a violence that shook the car. Their

each time it would hurt less, and afterward she would love Lyon less, until one day there would be nothing left Ã¢â'¬â€ no hurt, and no love. She

Racism doesn't know color, death doesn't know age, and pain doesn't know might.

When you're 15, pain skips over reason, aims right for the marrow.

Guess that's where the tears came from, knowing that there's so much in this great big world that you don't have a single ounce of control over. Guess the sooner you learn that, the sooner you'll have one less heartbreak in your life. Oh Lord. Some evenings I don't know where the old pains end and the new ones begin. Fells like the older you get the more they run into one long, deep aching.

Some evenings I don't know where the old pains end and the new ones begin. Feels like the older you get the more they run into one long, deep aching.

Guess that's where the tears came from, knowing that there's so much in this great big world that you don't have a single ounce of control over. Guess the sooner you learn that, the sooner you'll have one less heartbreak in your life. Oh Lord. Some evenings I don't know where the old pains end and the new ones begin. Feels like the older you get the more they run into one long, deep aching.

Each day, her sore and swollen body pressed against a hard wind blowing her own eyes closed. At night she went in and out of fitful sleeps, woke in the dark, sweaty and struggling for air. Where had the air gone?

Already there was black rain inside me.

It was an epiphany, the kind only a horrible trauma can induce.

My heart was glass, daily shattered Your love the glue, repairing the tattered.