Quotes About Pain

What is suffering? I'm not sure what it is, but I know that suffering is the name we give to the origin of all the sighs, screams, and groans — small and large, crude and multifaceted — that concern us. The word defines our gaze even more than what we are looking at.

He wrote, I do not know how to live. I do not know either, but I am trying. I do not know how to try. There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him, so I buried them, and let them hurt me.

The end of suffering does not justify the suffering

Writing is like pulling teeth out of your penis.

He would wake from sleep to miss the weight that never depress the bed next to him, remember in earnest the weight of gestures she never made, long for the un-weight of her un-arm slung over his too real chest, making his widower's remembrances that much more convincing and the pain that much more real.

it broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of

There are only so many times that you can utter 'It does not hurt' before it begins to hurt more than the hurt. You become enlightened of the feeling of hurt, which is worse, I am certain, than the existent hurt.

I never thought of myself as quiet or much less silent... is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one millions times but never once into it.

Most people behave badly when wounded. If you can remember the wounds, it is far more possible to forgive the behavior.

We are traumatized people. And nothing else has trauma's power to deform the mind and heart.

Its so painful to think, and tell me what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever get me?

And there are no cures for the hurt that hurts most. There is only the medicine of believing each other's pain, and being present for it.

Every morning, she'd clean me of my excrement, bathe me, dress me, and see that my hair was combed like a sane man's, even when it meant an elbow to the nose or a broken rib. She polished the blade. She wore my teeth marks on her body like other wives might wear jewelry. The hole didn't' matter. We paid it no attention. We shared a room. She was with me. She did all of those things and so many more, things I would never tell anyone, and she never even loved me. Now that's love.

Would I jump or would I burn? I guess I would jump, because then I wouldn't have to feel pain. On the other hand, maybe I would burn, because then I'd at least have a chance to somehow escape, and even if I couldn't, feeling pain is still better than not feeling, isn't it?

my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

The end of suffering does not justify the suffering, and so there is no end to suffering

Why do we do that? Why are the painful things always electromagnets?

there are only so many times that you can utter "It does not hurt" before it begins to hurt even more than the hurt. You become enlightened of the feeling of feeling hurt, which is worse, I am certain, than the existent hurt.

De ce facem asa? De ce lucrurile dureroase sunt intotdeauna niste electromagneti?

Zij sprak openhartig over de mishandelingen door haar vader, en liet hem de beurse plekken zien die zelfs een huid niet kan vertonen.

I'd experienced joy, but not nearly enough, could there be enough? The end of suffering does not justify the suffering, and so there is no end to suffering.

Feeling pain is still better than not feeling, isn't it?

L'unica cosa più dolorosa dell'essere obliatori attivi è essere rammentatori inerti.

I couldn't explain to her that I missed him more, more than she or anyone else missed him, because I could't tell her about what happened with the phone. That secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into.