Quotes About Pain

And while I am completely engulfed in my sadness, I am happy to sense that you exist, beautiful one. I am happy to have flung myself without fear into your beauty just as a bird flings itself into space. I am happy, dear, to have walked with steady faith on the waters of our uncertainty all the way to that island which is your heart and where pain blossoms.

I offer resistance, although I know that my heart has already been ripped out and I could not go on living even if my torturers were to leave me alone now.

love your solitude and bear the pain it causes you with melody wrought with lament.

I want to encourage you in your pain so that you will completely experience it in all its fullness, because as the experience of a new intensity it is a great life experience and leads everything back again to life, like everything that reaches a certain degree of greatest strength.

And so, dear sir, love your solitude, accept the pain it causes you, and make a melody with it.

Why do you want to shut out of your life any agitation, any pain, any melancholy, since you really do not know what these states are working upon you? ...just remember that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself of foreign matter; so one must just help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and break out with it, for that is its progress.

Pietà Fills now my cup, and past thought is my fulness thereof. I harden as a stone sets hard at its heart. Hard that I am, I know this alone: that thou didst grow— — — — — — and grow, to outgrow, as too great pain, my heart's reach utterly. Now liest thou my womb athwart, now can I not to thee again give birth.

do, you cried

I denounce because though implicated and partially responsible, I have been hurt to the point of abysmal pain, hurt to the point of invisibility. And I defend because in spite of it all, I find that I love.

Who am I? But it was like trying to identify one particular cell that coursed through the torpid veins of my body. Maybe I was just this blackness and bewilderment and pain, but that seemed less like a suitable answer than something I'd read somewhere.

The sun shines and warms and lights us and we have no curiosity to know why this is so; but we ask the reason of all evil, of pain, and hunger, and mosquitoes and silly people.

The love that you withhold is the pain you carry.

Every moment instructs, and every object: for wisdom is infused into every form. It has been poured into us as blood; it convulsed us as pain; it slid into us as pleasure; it enveloped us in dull, melancholy days, or in days of cheerful labor; we did not guess its essence, until after a long time.

The love that you withhold is the pain that you carry.

The resistance to the unpleasant situation is the root of suffering.

As we acquire a certain degree of equanimity in self-image, we are that much more likely to feel empathy for those around us. We know what it's like to be a "self" moving through the world of "others." When someone feels particularly isolated or in pain, we don't need a great deal of information in order to come to his or her aid.

The art of life is to stay wide open and be vulnerable, yet at the same time to sit with the mystery and the awe and with the unbearable pain—to just be with it all.

Reality's such a pain sometimes, you know?

Romans 8 contains a powerful theology of suffering. There's the groaning of those dying without hope, and in contrast, the groaning of those in childbirth. Both processes are painful, yet they are very different. The one is the pain of hopeless dread, the other the pain of hopeful anticipation. The Christian's pain is very real, but it's the pain of a mother anticipating the joy of holding her child. It

When you once had faith and no longer do, I suppose it's like a woman carrying a dead baby. The sight of live babies becomes painful.

What hurts the most Was being so close And having so much to say And watching you walk away And never knowing What could have been And not seeing that loving you Is what I was tryin' to do

Here comes goodbye, here comes the last time Here comes the start of every sleepless night The first of every tear Im gonna cry Here comes the pain, Here comes me wishing things had never changed And she was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye

What hurts the most, is being so close. And having so much to say, then watching you walk away...

I am absolutely convinced that meaninglessness does not come form being weary of pain; meaninglessness comes from being weary of pleasure.