Quotes About Pain

I looked at her, and she was smiling like she was broken.

Don't let me return as a woman in my next life! I'd rather be a dog or a rat than suffer this pain again!

Cuando limpiamos, lo hacemos para estar en paz con el dolor, en paz con el cáncer.

And now again the story of Tripoli changes. But whatever the outcome, she will have still her limpid skies, her air like wine, and a climate where it is a sin to acknowledge an ache or a pain, old age or unhappiness.

One minute you're bleeding. The next minute you're hemorrhaging. The next minute you're painting the Mona Lisa.

Historian Robert Paxton begins one of his books by asserting: "Fascism was the major political innovation of the twentieth century, and the source of much of its pain.

The unending paradox is that we do learn through pain.

Sometimes, I think, you can look at a person and know they are full of words. Maybe the words are withheld due to pain or privacy, or maybe subterfuge. Maybe there are knife-edged words waiting to draw blood.

After surgery, he told his doctors that the pain was exactly as it was, but he did not feel it as greatly. "It's as if," he had said, a cool blandness in his eyes, "the pain is not being done to me." One day, maybe in a ten years, or fifty years, a surgeon will be able to do this with disturbing precision, destroy a whirlpool of memory, an entire system of feelings, but in the meantime it's like taking a hatchet to a spider's web.

Sometimes, I think, you can look at a person and know they are full of words. Maybe the words are withheld due to pain or privacy, or maybe subterfuge.

You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see.

When he was gone, would I be like Achilles, wailing over his lost lover Patroclus? I tried to picture myself running up and down the beaches, tearing at my hair, cradling some scrap of old tunic he had left behind. Crying out for the loss of half my soul. I could not see it. That knowledge brought its own sort of pain.

A pain was gnawing in my chest. I pressed my hands to it, the hollows and hard bones. I sat before my loom and felt at last like the creature Medea had named me: old and abandoned and alone, spiritless and gray as the rocks themselves.

I touched the thought like a bruise, testing its ache.

The never ending ache of love and sorrow

I fled so she would not see my tears and wear them as another of her trophies.

But a cracked heart was not enough, and I had grown wise enough to know it. I kissed him and left him there.

Then he would leave for the underworld, where I could never go, for gods are the opposite of death. I tried to imagine those dusky hills and gray meadows, the shades moving slow and white among them. Some walked hand in hand with those they had loved in life; some waited, secure that one day their beloved would come. And for those who had not loved, whose lives had been filled with pain and horror, there was the black river Lethe, where one might drink and forget. Some consolation.

I lay on the dirt, weeping. Those flowers had made him his true being, which was blue, and finned, and not mine. I thought I would die of such pain, which was not like the sinking numbness Aeëtes had left behind, but sharp and fierce as a blade through my chest. But of course I could not die. I would live on, through each scalding moment to the next. This is the grief that makes our kind choose to be stones and trees rather than flesh.

A pleasure rose in me so old and sharp it felt like pain.

Is there a moment that a heart cracks?

A cry of Absence, Absence, in the heart

If there's no pain and no loss, it's only recreational and we can leave it to the minks. People have to be valued.

There had been a slight flavor of childishness in her outbursts, a little of petulance, but it was mostly a mature woman in that special area of pain reserved, in irony, for those who know how to give.