Quotes About Pain

There was no sorrow till the devil pumped it up," as we say in Russian.

Sometimes being real means allowing pain or accepting a painful truth. Yet something in us aligns with an inner ground of authenticity when we are real. We love it because of its inherent rightness in our soul, the sense of "Aha, here I am and there is nothing to do but be.

There are three things that make me want to drink: difficult times, when I want alcohol to either alleviate the pain or allow me to feel it; clear days that make me want to scribble all over the irritating blue sky; and well, waking up in the morning.

I was in love with a poet. I'm in it for the pleasure, I told my poet once, in a moment of bravado. The poet grinned at me. I'm in it for the pain, he said. It ended sadly. The kind of ending where you wait together, holding hands and weeping, while off in another room, love slowly dies.

The past gets swallowed up in the extraordinary circumstances of now. But mostly it hurts too much to let my mind go back.

She was tired of relationships whose greatest intimacy consisted of sitting up all night weeping while love died.

No blade can puncture the human heart like the well-chosen words of a spiteful son.

I have suffered from depression for most of my life. It is an illness.

Ya??yorlar. Ac? çekiyorlar. Ölüyorlar.

Oliver, success is usually a feeling of mere relief, where failure is pain. Happiness, you see, lies in neither, but in sticking to a daily ritual and becoming absorbed in something useful. When the war is over, even the greatest warriors do not exult. They go back to their garden or kitchen or library -- or school -- and resume life. (as said by Mrs. Pearson)

we see life as deeply in our pleasures as in our pains.

of white men they are branded with a red-hot

both sides together suffered another half a million dead and wounded just during the war's final five weeks.

For them, and for Homer, impermanence is life's central sorrow and the source of its most lasting pain.

At the funeral my stitches were itching like crazy, but it didn't bother me much because I was like totally tripping on the codeine they'd prescribed for the pain. They cremated my mom and stuffed her ashes into a pine box and put an eight-by-ten photo next to it. In the photo she was wearing too much makeup and it made me want to smash it with my fist.

I sat there for a moment and thought about my mom. It was her groans of pain that would get me the most. Sometimes they didn't even sound human. Sometimes she sounded like a cow, and for some weird reason, that made me think about hamburgers and I suddenly realized how starved I was.

It's at times like this, said Pu Sto, massaging her wounded shoulder gently and grimacing, when I'm sitting inside Shakespeare's nose about to be shot through the torso - for the second time today - by one of our government's most capable assassins, that I really wished I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young.

Pleasure and pain are the great objects of desire and aversion: but these are distinguished not by reason, but by immediate sense and feeling. If virtue, therefore, be desirable for its own sake, and if vice be, in the same manner, the object of aversion, it cannot be reason which originally distinguishes those different qualities, but immediate sense and feeling.

So a life builds up in layers, piecemeal, a kind of haphazard engineering that has elements of skill and cunning - the previous layers mostly hidden, as are the smaller mounds within, the clumps of different-coloured earth, the burnt offerings, the nodules of pain and the delight. The hard graft of the chopped-off antlers, picking and stabbing and scraping. The embers of old fires, old flames, in mute fragments of charcoal.

Music heard with you at home or in the car or even while strolling didn't always sound as pristine as piano tuners might wish— it was sometimes mixed with voices full of fear and pain, and then that music was more than music, it was our living and our dying.

Your body is a blade sharpened by tears

When you have His joy in your heart, it doesn't necessarily mean your pain or hurt will be taken away. It means you'll be able to bear it.

I used to believe my art had to be about the things that brought me joy and gave me hope. But I learned that art can be found in all of life, even in pain. --Valentine, while in Italy (pg 267)

There is no worse feeling than being unable to assuage the suffering of the innocent.