Quotes About Pain

But how true it is that every pleasure has also its reverse side, in brief, its pain. Or, if not wholly true, how nearly so. Therefore, I have added to most of my pleasures the little flavour of bitterness, the flaw in their perfection, the canker in the damask, the worm at the root, the fear of loss, or of satiety, the fearful risks involved in their very existence, which tang their sweetness, and mind us of their mortality and of our own, and that nothing in this world is perfect.

Pain, no matter how prolonged it seems to be, is just a short-lived thing that one day, in one way or another, we will overcome.

I keep trying to bring back what is gone, the sunny, bygone years of my childhood," she would write over thirty years later, as if acknowledging the impossibility of this.40 From the child's point of view, the world may have been undiluted sun, though with a child's intuition, she must already have sensed the cracks in her paradise. From an adult perspective, it was a labyrinthine tangle of pain and

It was a story that still hurt in the telling, which perhaps made it a worthwhile gift, after all.

Any harsh words – spoken or even read somewhere – made me cringe and caused physical pain.

Suicide doesn't end pain; it multiplies it exponentially and transfers it to those who loved you.

I'd always admired writers. I'd always loved words on a page. Somehow, words seemed to bypass image and get straight to the heart of things. Somehow, words seemed big enough to contain pain, and sentences could pull broken bits together.

I've spilled all my secrets. How do you make people do it?" "I don't. People like to talk about what's hurting them. It takes the edge off the pain sometimes.

She listened with her head bowed, biting one knuckle like a doleful child. But there was nothing childish about the look she gave me. It held a startled awareness, as if she'd had to grow up in a hurry, painfully. I had a feeling that she was the one who had suffered most in the family trouble.

The fire bit into my legs like a rabid fox.

Los muertos no hacen daño. Los vivos son quienes nos lastiman.

Failures are like skinned knees, painful but superficial.

I think she must have lived where all the sad poets live, in that secret place where everything hurts all the time.

Es que no hay forma de decir en voz alta que se puede odiar a alguien por morirse, como yo la odio a ella

Grief was an actual weight, he thought. It felt like a physical burden. You carried it with you all day, unsheddable. Your shoulders, by nightfall, felt dragged down." p 320

You can move a lot of garbage across the bridge of love: alcoholism, infidelity, addiction, abuse.

Dicen que dando lástima, se logra conseguir el amor. Si yo entre lágrimas te enseñara que sufro, que me dueles, algo, tal vez, podría. Pero quiero decírtelo: Yo no voy a llorar ni a lamentarme. Como nadie sabrá que me has querido, nadie sabrá que me dejaste.

El ánfora funesta del divino veneno que ha de ser por la vida la tortura interior, la consciencia espantable de nuestro humano cieno y el horror de sentirse pasajero, el horror de ir a tientas, en intermitentes espantos, hacia lo inevitable, desconocido, y la pesadilla brutal de este dormir de llantos ¡de la cual no hay más que Ella que nos despertará!

Ese es mi mal. Soñar. La poesía Es la camisa férrea de mil puntas cruentas Que llevo sobre el alma. Las espinas sangrientas Dejan caer las gotas de mi melancolía.

Las lamentaciones y los gemidos, los suspiros y las lágrimas son apaciguadas entre tanto por esta horrible palpitación de mi corazón; ¡ah, esta horrible palpitación!

Así tú para mí. En medio de los martirios de la vida, me refrescas y alientas con el aire de tus alas, porque si partiste en tu forma humana al viaje sin retorno, siento la venida de tu sér inmortal, cuando las fuerzas me faltan o cuando el dolor tiende hacia mí el negro arco.

As ostras felizes se riam dela e diziam: 'ela não sai da sua depressão...'. Não era depressão. Era dor. Pois um grão de areia havia entrado dentro da sua carne e doía, doía, doía. E ela não tinha jeito de se livrar dele, do grão de areia.

A imaginação é a artista que transforma o sofrimento em beleza. E a beleza torna a dor suportável.

A solidão e o sofrimento me fizeram sensível à voz dos poetas.