Quotes About Pain

Living is hell of a death

The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed.

I want to die, sometimes, my head hurts so much. I keep writing you all my brightest thoughts but I never say the dark ones, even though I think them all the time. So I am saying them now. Even if you do not answer, I will know somebody heard them, and that, at least, is something.

There is not even a Scrabble word for how bad I feel.

Silence is a protective coating over pain.

Here I am frozen, when I deserve to burn.

I suffer migraines. I do not suffer fools.

It shattered something inside me that hadn't been broken before.

I'll be fine, they tell me. I won't die. It'll just hurt a lot.

Divorce shreds the muscles of our hearts so that they will hardly beat without a struggle.

I suffer migraines. I do not suffer fools. I like a twist of meaning. I endure.

And this is my life, getting dumped with no warning. Or liking people who don't like me back, or who don't like me enough, or not as much as they like someone else.

He cried like a man,not like a boy.Not like he was frustrated or hadn't gotten his way,but like life was bitter.Like his wounds couldn't be healed.

Not all pain is worth it,' said Tipper. 'Some pain is just pain.

MY FULL NAME is Cadence Sinclair Eastman. I suffer migraines. I do not suffer fools. I like a twist of meaning. I endure.

Telling this story will be painful. In fact, I do not know if I can tell it truthfully, though I'll try. I have been a liar all my life, you see. It's not uncommon in our family.

By now, you know everything about Jackson Clarke, probably way more than anyone on earth wants to hear. This is all I have to add: I still think about him every day. When I see him, my heart jumps up in my chest. I long for him to talk to me, and whenever he even says hello, I feel a thousand times worse than I did before. I wish he was dead. I wish he still liked me.

She confused being sick with being brave, and suffered agonies while imagining she merited praise for it.

Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound, then from my eyes, my ears, my mouth. It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps to the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout.

I lie in my darkened room. Scavenger birds peck at the oozing matter that leaks from my crushed skull.

My little brother is in rehab. My little brother is in rehab. I feel like these words are written on my arms whenever I push up my sleeves, written on my cheeks whenever they relax out of my fake smile. They want to come out of my mouth, all the time. When I am called upon in class, or when someone says, "Hey, what's up?" - that's what I want to answer. "My little brother's in rehab." But I never do.

Don't cause distress, she said. Don't remind people of a loss. "Do you understand, Cady? Silence is a protective coating over pain.

A lot of times, I wish I were dead, I truly do, just to make the pain stop.

It is true I suffer migraines since my accident. It is true I do not suffer fools.