Quotes About Pain

La vie de l'intelligence constitue un univers lyrique incomparable, un drame complet où ne manquent ni l'aventure, ni les passions, ni la douleur, ni le comique, ni rien d'humain.

El dolor es siempre pregunta, y el placer, respuesta

A traumatised person does not remember the trauma, but experiences it over and over again.

Of its persistent, artless strain: Naught so can soothe a soul's own pain, As making glad another soul!

Velvet peeled away from my heart, my delicate pericardium, shocked that something beautiful did not love me. I grew six terrible inches. My bones hardened into their permanence.

chemotherapy as a cancer cure is pathetic.

It's no life, Paula. It's a living nightmare.

Knowing he was suffering pained me. That's the way love tangles you up. I couldn't stop loving him, and couldn't shut off the feelings of wanting to care for him— but I also didn't have to run to answer his letters. I was hurting, too, and no one was running to me.

I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn't ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.

This was my one brush with love. Was it love? It felt awful enough. I spent another two years crawling around in the skin of it, smoking too much and growing too thin and having stray thoughts of jumping from my balcony like a tortured heroine in a Russian novel.

Getting your heart broken is the privilege of being human, Eden used to say. I didn't know what she meant then. My heart had been broken lots of times, and I was supposed to say thank you? Now, all these years later, I'm at least starting to see that she was really talking about the whole journey. That it's impossible to be alive and not get hurt sometimes, not if you're doing it right.

the damage has been simmering for years and has no doubt found other ways to erupt, in feelings of shame or hopelessness, drawing her unconsciously to people and situations that echo or approximate the original pain.

Sometimes the only antidote for pain is more of it.

I wish I could break into pieces," I told him one night, just a week after I'd come back. "That would feel better somehow. Isn't the worst when you can keep on walking and breathing and writing letters and going to the market and all the things you do when you're alive, but really you're blown apart?

Getting your heart broken is the privilege of being human.

With this much loss, you begin to think it's in the blood, as if there's a dark magnet pulling the body in that direction—pulling, maybe, from the beginning.

Her absence was still so loud and so heavy, I ached with it, feeling hollow and lost. I didn't know how to forget my mother any more than my father knew how he might comfort me.

My mother in that awful parking lot, dead on Christmas Day. Jenny's murder and Eden's cancer. Hap's disappearance. My daughter's accident. The dark abyss of my work and how it connects in an awful and yawning way to everything else.

Knowing he was suffering pained me. That's the way love tangles you up. I couldn't stop loving him, and couldn't shut off the feelings of wanting to care for him—but I also didn't have to run to answer his letters.

Getting your heart broken is the privilege of being human, Eden used to say. I didn't know what

There's death in life, Anna, things too impossible to bear. So many things, and yet we bear them.

If you want to know real joy in life, then be willing to let pain tutor your soul.

There is no cure for a bleeding heart.

As a matter of fact," the other voice went on, "if you do tie her up from time to time, or whip her just a little, and she begins to like it, that's no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.