Quotes About Pain

A friendship that was agony to continue but that would be a living death to lose.

She could feel the old pain and despised herself for allowing it still to hurt. But how she had loved him!

The need to cry was almost a pain.

One thing at least was beginning to clarify itself in Elizabeth's mind. Their separation had not been brought about by his lack of love or by cruelty. Somehow there had been a massive misunderstanding. For six years each of them had believed the other at fault. Each had carried the pain and the bitterness all that time.

But she had to try. Her own love for Robert was a strong pain that she would have to bear for the rest of her life if she must. But if there was a chance that he loved her too and that their separation had not been of their own making, then she felt compelled to try to make possible a reconciliation. She had to put every ounce of effort into the attempt.

But life and pain go hand and hand. On e cannot live fully unless one faces pain at least occasionally.

We can all be hurt.

The memories themselves had been bad enough. It was almost unbearably painful to remember how close they had come to giving themselves to each other, how deep and lasting their love had seemed to be. It was impossible to understand how he could have changed so utterly and in such a short time. She shuddered at the memory of his coldness and callousness . . .

It is as well for him, he said, that he is already dead. He would suffer this night if he were still alive.

She was finding it increasingly painful to hate him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his aching head in his hands for a few moments. Deuce take it, I wish I were dead.

She closed her eyes and put her hands over her face. Dear God, he had suffered too.

He had known that memories would be stirred if he saw her again. He had known, surely, that somehow he would be hurt by them.

It was true that love had never done her much good. It had brought her very little happiness. A few weeks of courtship and two days of marriage did not provide enough happiness for a lifetime. There had been years of pain and emptiness. Perhaps a marriage based on affection and respect would prove more durable. Perhaps there would not be the peak of delirious joy that she had known with Robert. But there would not be the depths of despair, either.

He had reacted to pain and loss in a remarkably immature manner—as usual. Nothing much ever changed in his life, except the incidentals.

But she had been too wrapped up with painful memory, uncomfortable reality.

And so he had lost her before he had ever had a chance of having her. And had determinedly, over the next several years, pushed the pain and the longing into the background of his mind, forced friendship to the fore, and won his battle.

The price of love, she thought, was pain. Was it worth it? Was it better not to love at all?

Elizabeth had tried to hate him in that first year when the pain had been intense enough to drive her almost out of her mind. But even then she had not been able to. The best she could do eventually was to dull all feeling, so that a mere empty ache would gnaw at her when her mind strayed to that episode in her life. She had trained herself to think of him, if at all, as he was at the beginning of their relationship.

Oh Christopher, she thought, burying her face in her hands again, why? Why did you have to turn out this way? Or why did you not show yourself in your true colors before I was foolish enough to love you?

He had loved her as she had loved him. A foolish youthful emotion that was as insubstantial as a dream—and that left enough pain in its wake to cripple one for a lifetime.

It was hard to cope with pain, she was finding, by telling oneself that the joy preceding it had made it worthwhile.

So little time. And all the pain looming ahead again.

We know you are wretchedly unhappy and we cannot do much to ease the pain.