Quotes About Pain

Is the air okay? I texted. It hurts a little to breathe, my sister texted back. But we're okay. Jesus, I thought, is there a better and more succinct definition of grief than It hurts a little to breathe, but we're okay ?

Then I remember that God is really, really old. So maybe God has God arthritis. And maybe that's why the world sucks. Maybe God's hands and fingers don't work as well as they used to.

Held on to me like I was a baby. And she kept crying. So many tears. My clothes and hair were soaked with her tears. It was, like, my mother had given me a grief shower, you know? Like she'd baptized me with her pain.

I can't remember how to cry.

Things had gotten so intense, so painful, that my body just checked out. Yep, my mind and soul and heart had a quick meeting and voted to shut down for a few repairs.

But it wasn't okay. It was about as far from okay as you can get. If okay was the earth, then I was standing on Jupiter. I don't know why I said it was okay. For some reason, I was protecting the feelings of the man who had broken my heart yet again.

I often wonder why I am the one who remember all the pain?

It made me cry for myself.

Great pain is repetitive. Grief is repetitive. And, maybe, this repetition can become a chant inside a healing ceremony.

They wanted to help me with my pain.

He felt split in two, one crazy man eating hair and one rational man watching a crazy man eat hair. He chewed and swallowed the last pieces of his father's life. He felt like he was building a museum of pain, a freak show, where he was the only visitor viewing the only mutant screaming the only prayer he knew: Come back, Daddy. Come back, Daddy. Come back, Daddy. Come back, Daddy. Come back, Daddy. Come back, Daddy. Come back, Daddy. Come back Daddy...

My name is Sherman Alexie and I was born from loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss and loss. And loss.

This is who I am. This is who I have always been. I am in pain. I am always in pain. But I always find a way to the story. And I always find my way home.

Yes, I have often battled Grief. / Both of us used our teeth.

I cry because I'm crying.

cry huge, gasping tears.

my nose bled like a firework

Jesus, I thought, is there a better and more succinct definition of grief than It hurts a little to breathe, but we're okay?

There are all kinds of addicts, I guess. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away. Penelope gorges on her pain and then throws it up and flushes it away. My dad drinks his pain away.

Great pain is repetitive. Grief is repetitive.

When anybody, no matter how old they are, loses a parent, I think it hurts the same as if you were only five years old, you know?

I wanted to run faster than the speed of sound, but nobody,no matter how much pain they're in, can run that fast.

I figured any nightmare would be better than my reality.

How much do we remember of what hurts us most? I've been thinking about pain, how each of us constructs our past to justify what we feel now.