Quotes About Pain

Suffering was not a punishment from beyond or a malevolent infestation of the soul. Like the earth turning on its axis or energy passing through a conductor, it was a part of the natural world, to be studied, understood, and, when possible, managed.

People actively seek to filter out painful stimuli, and while this may help them limit distress, it can also sharply distort their actual environment. "If most of us remain ignorant of ourselves," wrote Aldous Huxley, "it is because self-knowledge is painful and we prefer the pleasures of illusion.

I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better I can not tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me.

In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares.

That's a bad bruise." "I scarcely feel it." Indeed, she probably could have been smacked over the head with a log just then and would scarcely have noticed.

I wanted her under me, helpless to do anything but endure as I possessed her in every possible way. I wanted her moans, her screams, the sweet contractions of her cunt as it convulsed at the nexus of pain and pleasure so intense as to shatter her. I wanted to lick her tears from the curve of her cheek, hold her as she shook from the force of what I made her feel and then, when she had calmed a little, begin all over again.

How many tears could one body hold? How many could she spill before she drowned in them?

some memories, too, might better be forgotten. didn't Obasan once say, "it is better to forget"? what purpose is served by hauling forth the jar of inedible food? if it is not seen, it does not horrify. what is past recall is past pain.

Love had different beginnings but always the same end. Someone was going to get hurt.

Of our hurts we make monuments of survival. If we survive.

Not only did I avoid speaking of Salinger I resisted thinking about him. I did not reread his letters to me. The experience had been too painful.

This was always her problem, of course. That her children's sorrows became hers. She felt their pain so deeply, she hardly registered her own.

All those small injuries, sorrows, wounds, regrets—the hurtful words, the pain people inflicted on each other, intentionally or not, that seemed so important once. You might not even remember anymore what they were about, those things that once made you so angry, bitter, hurt. Or maybe you remembered, but did any of it matter, really? (Who said what? Who did what, when? Who hurt whom? Well, everybody had hurt everyone.)

This was always her problem, of course. That her children's sorrows became hers. She felt their pain so deeply, she hardly registered her own.

The deeper the pain, the greater the fear, the wider the door opens to a new world. Step through.

Love opens us. Pain deepens us. Courage strengthens us. Joy enlightens us. Beauty renews us.

Lo que lo jode todo siempre. El amor verdadero.

Porque lo que las palabras lastiman, a veces solo el silencio arregla.

El llanto es un perro inmenso, que va mordiendo por dentro mientras no sale, y deja vacíos detrás, abismos de llenado incierto.

Porque lo que las palabras lastiman, a veces sólo el silencio arregla.

La tragedia absoluta proclama axiomáticamente que es mejor no nacer o, en en caso que esto ya no sea posible, morir joven. El modelo <> de la condición del hombre y de la mujer considera a éstos intrusos no deseados de la creación, seres destinados a padecer sufrimientos y frustraciones inmerecidos, incomprensibles y arbitrarios

Experience, or what we call experience, is not the inventory of our pains, but rather sympathy we learn to feel for the pain of others. With

Me sorprendió el poco esfuerzo que me costaba evocar esas palabras dichas, esas cosas vistas o escuchadas, esos dolores sufridos y ya superados; me sorprendió también con qué presteza y dedicación nos entregamos al dañino ejercicio de la memoria, que a fin de cuentas nada trae de bueno y sólo sirve para entorpecer nuestro normal funcionamiento.

Comprendo la desesperanza. El sentimiento de culpa. El saber que el mundo está roto y no puede arreglarse.