Quotes About Pain

For my days vanish like smoke, and my bones burn like glowing embers.

Through my loud groaning my flesh clings to my bones.

All day long my enemies taunt me; they ridicule me and curse me.

For I have eaten ashes like bread and mixed my drink with tears

They surround me with hateful words and attack me without cause.

The plowmen plowed over my back; they made their furrows long.

in the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a double-edged sword.

Can a man walk on hot coals without scorching his feet?

The heart knows its own bitterness, and no stranger shares in its joy.

Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in sorrow.

A rebuke cuts into a man of discernment deeper than a hundred lashes cut into a fool.

Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has contentions? Who has complaints? Who has needless wounds? Who has bloodshot eyes?

In the end it bites like a snake and stings like a viper.

“They struck me, but I feel no pain! They beat me, but I did not know it! When can I wake up to search for another drink?”

Like a broken tooth or a foot out of joint is confidence in a faithless man in time of trouble.

Like one who removes a garment on a cold day or vinegar poured on a wound is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.

For with much wisdom comes much sorrow, and as knowledge grows, grief increases.

Moreover, all his days he eats in darkness, with much sorrow, sickness, and anger.

So banish sorrow from your heart, and cast off pain from your body, for youth and vigor are fleeting.

Why do you want more beatings? Why do you keep rebelling? Your head has a massive wound, and your whole heart is afflicted.

From the sole of your foot to the top of your head, there is no soundness—only wounds and welts and festering sores neither cleansed nor bandaged nor soothed with oil.

Terror, pain, and anguish will seize them; they will writhe like a woman in labor. They will look at one another, their faces flushed with fear.

On the day that the LORD gives you rest from your pain and torment, and from the hard labor into which you were forced,

though on the day you plant you make them grow, and on that morning you help your seed sprout—yet the harvest will vanish on the day of disease and incurable pain.