Quotes About Pain

Most people fear pain. I've learned that not feeling pain is a much more frightening proposition than feeling it. In fact, there are times when I'm playing when I actually enjoy it.

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

Don't punish yourself,' she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces.

Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

After perhaps thirty meters, just as a soldier turned around, the girl was felled. Hands were clamped upon her from behind and the boy next door brought her down. He forced her knees to the road and suffered the penalty. He collected her punches as if they were presents. Her bony hands and elbows were accepted with nothing but a few short moans. He accumulated the loud, clumsy specks of saliva and tears as if they were lovely to his face, and more important, he was able to hold her down.

The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.

Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. Each half was glowing, and beating under all that white.

When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore.

She was battered and beaten up, and not smiling this time. Liesel could see it on her face. Blood leaked from her nose and licked at her lips. Her eyes had blackened. Cuts had opened up and a series of wounds were rising to the surface of her skin. All from the words. From Liesel's words.

She gave her a reason to write her own words, to see that words had also brought her to life. Don't punish yourself, she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.

I think of how she lives alone, just like me, and how she never had any real family, and how she only has sex with people. She never lets any love get in the way. I think she had a family once, but it was one of those beat-the-crap-out-of-each-other situations. There's no shortage of them around here. I think she loved them, and all they ever did was hurt her.

Like most misery, it started out with apparent happiness. - The Book Thief

The pain of WATCHING them! What about their pain?

It would then be brought abruptly to an end, for the brightness had shown suffering the way.

He was a wasteland in a suit; he was bent-postured, he was broken.

Within minutes, mounds of concrete and earth were stacked and piled. The streets were ruptured veins. Blood streamed till it was dried on the road, and the bodies were stuck there, like driftwood after the flood.

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see this graze inside me? Do you see it before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything more.

No veis la herida que tengo dentro? ¿No veis cómo se extiende y me corroe ante vuestros ojos? No quiero volver a tener esperanzas.

A veces me mata ver cómo muere la gente.

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore. I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner. Because the world does not deserve them.