Quotes About Pain

She wanted to scream her grief to the skies and wail like an animal, but she couldn't.

I am. No doubt about it. I like humiliating Cooper. I like causing him pain. It feels good. It feels better than his dad's whiskey, better than his mom's weed. Because for just a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.

Jimmy let's out a whistle. "What?" "Your hand." I look at it. My ripped nail is still bleeding. I wipe the red off on my pants. "You should get it taken care of. It looks awful" he says. "I guess it does." "You must be in pain, kid. Does it hurt?" I nod. "Yeah, Jimmy. All the time.

He was beyond damaged. He was broken. Smashed to bloody pieces. He was alone in the world without the one person who could make him whole. And he always would be.

Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only Silence. Indifference.

Sarcasm is the weapon of the wounded

Wounds can heal if you pull the thorns out.

He was a flame and she'd gotten burned, and the pain was terrible, yet it didn't make the fire any less alluring.

I take a seat high above the BQE, stare at Manhatten for a bit, and then I play. For hours. I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.

Oh, my. Oh, dear," he said. "Is this also love? This terrible pain?" Belle nodded. "Love is hard. I had no idea how hard. Is it worth the pain?" "Yes," Belle said. "It is.

Her grief would run its course, like a fever, and release her when it was spent. He would not shush her or tell her it was God's will and that her da was better off. That was rubbish and they both knew it. When something hurt as bad as this, you had to let it hurt. There were no shortcuts.

Mortals do not like uncertainty. They do not like change. Change is frightening. Change is painful." Excerpt From Stepsister

I head out of the Castle van Epp, down to the Promenade. It's snowing. I take a seat high above the BQE, stare at Manhattan for a bit, and then I play. For hours. I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.

A los mortales no les gusta la incertidumbre. No les gusta el cambio. El cambio da miedo. El cambio es doloroso. -El cambio es un beso en la oscuridad. Una rosa en la nieve. Un camino del bosque en una noche ventosa.

A veces es más fácil decir que odias lo que no tienes que reconocer cuánto lo quieres.

A lo largo de su vida siempre había querido y amado lo que no debía. Lo que le rompía el corazón. Todo aquello no era para ella, el mundo se lo había dicho. Entonces ¿para qué pedirlo? No serviría más que para hacerle daño de nuevo.

No había sentido ningún dolor, sólo temor por él. Creo que fue entonces cuando empezó la revolución. No la de París, ni la de los franceses, sino la mía.

She knew that even tiny wounds, left untended, can fester and swell and turn a heart black.

It's often the small things that hurt the most—a cold glance, a cutting word, laughter that stops when you enter the room.

Wounds can heal if you pull the thorns out," she said. "For some, perhaps

Roses have thorns, and thorns leave wounds.

Sometimes, Belle, our troubles are too deep for words

Love is hard. I had no idea how hard. Is it worth the pain?" "Yes," Belle said. "It is." "Please, Belle," Otto said. "If I have to go, I want to go with my friends around me…with love…." "Before you go, promise me something, Belle…" he whispered to her. "Keep being the author of your own story. Never let anyone else write it for you again.

I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.