Quotes About Pain

Sorrow never heals. We simply take comfort in the fact that our pain seems to fade.

Self-motivation without gratitude is impossible. Our energy is "sapped" when our entire focus is on what's wrong instead of what is right with our lives. One of our greatest challenges is to live and love in spite of pain and disappointment...to find gratitude in the midst of it all. -Jayadeva De Silva

Torture has an indelible character. Whoever was tortured, stays tortured.

Every suicide is a solution to a problem.

There must be a wound inside the words that communicates.

În lenta curgere a istoriei, cu sinozit??ile, cu ezit?rile, cu mla?tinile sale, cu timpii s?i mor?i, apar dintr-o dat?, ?i adesea în durere ?i sânge, avalan?e de violen?e ?i de relativ? simplicitate.

A living speck-the merest dab of life-capable of pleasure and pain, is far more interesting to me than all the immensities of mere matter.

Saintliness means turning pain to good account. It means forcing the devil to be God.

Hell has degrees, so does love

In one of them I am sixteen or seventeen years old. I am wearing, under a jacket of the Assistance Publique, a torn sweater. My face is an oval, very pure; my nose is smashed, flattened by a punch in some forgotten fight. The look on my face is blasé, sad and warm, very serious. My hair was thick and unruly. Seeing myself at that age, I expressed my feelings almost aloud: "Poor little fellow, you've suffered.

After the drama, he had to live in the tragedy.

My heart's in my hand, and my hand is pierced, and my hand's in the bag, and the bag is shut, and my heart is caught.

Limited by the world, which I oppose, jagged by it, I shall be all the more handsome and sparkling as the angles which wound me and give me shape are more acute and the jagging more cruel.

Je vais te dire le secret; c'est tout sucré, comme un mort. « II y a trop de sang, autour de nous. « Il y a dix trous, il y a cent trous, dans des chairs, dans du bois vivant, par où le sang et la sève coulent sur le monde comme une Durance. « Il y a cent trous, il y a mille trous que nous avons faits, nous, avec nos mains.

Elle se servait beaucoup de sa larme pour amollir son mal.

The pain between them at this moment is more intimate than anything that has come before. It is also, incidentally, more intimate than anything she has shared with her fiancé. It is devastating.

But whether I touch him or I run, whether I'm dreaming or I'm awake, on his birthday or on all other days, my whole life has been contaminated with the fact that he is dead.

But whether I touch him or I run, whether I'm dreaming or I'm awake, on his birthday or on all other days, my whole life has been contaminated with the fact that he is dead.

All that attacks is memory, all I suffer is regret.

It's a physical urge, stronger than thirst or sex. Halfway back on the left side of my head there is a spot that longs for the jolt of a bullet, that yearns for that fire, that final empty rip. I want to be let out of this cavern, to open myself up to the ease of not-living. I am tired of sorrow and struggle and worry. I am tired of my sad sister. I want to turn out the last light.

Guy walks into the doctor's office," the clownish fool retorts, "says, 'Doc, I've hurt my arm in several places.' 'So,' his doctor says, 'stay outta those places.'" "How

Nature was more merciful than men, providing for those who suffered great pain such blessedness as fainting; but men were cruel and brought their victims out of faints that the pain might start again. (On being tortured/The Tower.)

To her own heart, which was shaped exactly like a valentine, there came a winglike palpitation, a delicate exigency, and all the fragrance of all the flowery springtime love affairs that ever were seemed waiting for them in the whisky bottle. To mingle their pain their handshake had promised them, was to produce a separate entity, like a child that could shift for itself, and they scrambled hastily toward this profound and pastoral experience.

Happy, Muriel? No, not happy. Your aim is wrong. There is no such thing as happiness. Life bends joy and pain, beauty and ugliness, in such a way that no one may isolate them. No one should want to. Perfect joy, or perfect pain, with no contrasting element to define them, would mean a monotony of consciousness, would mean death.