Quotes About Pain

Cognitive dissonance is the tendency "to suppress, gloss over, water down or 'waffle' issues which would produce conflict or 'psychological pain' within an organization.

There is this peculiarity about the pleasure derived from the beautiful, that when raised to the highest pitch it sharpens into pain, acute and exquisite—pain which is itself a delight, produced by the strain of the soul to grasp and assimilate the perfect.

She is the idol of the wise, The mistress of the rhyming race; But pain lurks in her luring eyes, And bitter-sweet is her embrace.

We have a bitter power who laugh at pain, Who laugh and laugh -- for tears are shed in vain.

I will give you a charm against sorrow: smile at the kisses of Pain. She is a sensitive lover and likes not to be flouted.

Our sorrows are the golden grain Of the great reaper--Art.

The pain of Love has poisoned all the day. Pitiless Love, that lures but to betray! And pitiless the whisper of the soul: Like songs and worlds, this too shall pass away.

No desert waste is lonelier than I. The arid pain of Love has burned me dry.

There is a sore spot in the heart of Truth, and no balm can ever heal it.

Now what's to be found by racing around You carry your pain wherever you go Full of blues, and trying to lose You ain't gonna learn what you don't wanna know

Any love is enveloping and potentially dangerous; after all, you are putting your heart into someone else's hands and with that an incredible power to cause pain of various kinds (and vice versa). That's a given. But there is an additional absolutism about first love, when you have nothing to compare it with. You don't know anything, yet you feel you know everything -- this can be calamitous.

The moment one takes to bed he gets sympathy. He may be suffering from a tearing headache or a tooth that makes him cry out; but if he goes about his business, or even flops in a chair, true sympathy is denied him.

Pain means you're alive. Pain is good. Pain is life.

Not according to this," Jazz said, taking the report. "No evidence of sexual activity or anything like it." "Well, there's that," Howie said, sounding relieved. Jazz wondered at that - was it really so much better to be unmolested, but still murdered in a horrible fashion? To die in pain and terror, stripped, left in a field, your fingers cut off? But as long as you weren't raped, well, that was alright, then? Did it really matter at that point?

Yes, pain meant life. But the symmetric property did not apply; Life did not mean pain.

If you don't feel anything, you can't be hurt.

Here's the thing. Here's the thing I hate: His concern is like a really warm drink when your body is cold, and you feel it go all the way down your throat and then into your stomach, where it pools and spreads out. But the problem is, that cold is good . Cold is numb . And when you're numb, you can't feel pain. You can't feel pain until some stupid warm drink makes you not numb anymore and then you can feel again.

Your words hurt, Jazz. They hurt like cotton balls thrown in my direction.

Yes, pain meant life. But life did not mean pain.

The pain would find him. The pain always found him.

There's an old song that says, "Suicide is painless." I'm not foolish enough to believe that's always the case, but I do know this: Suicide ends pain.

Most of us just go on, the walking wounded, dealing with our lives.

My hand throbs with leftover pain. I hit something. Something. Not someone. The flat of my palm, smacking against Ms. Benitez's desk. Now I remember. Her stapler jumped. So did she. "Don't talk about my sister." I blacked out. Went into a fugue state. Sank deep into the static, where sound and light and memory could not find me.

Nothing a man suffers will prevent him from inflicting suffering on others. Indeed, it will teach him the way