Quotes About Pain

The nurse jabbed the needle in, and I winced, savoring the tiny hurt.

I felt nothing. Then I felt a small, deep thrill, and a bright seam of red welled up at the lip of the slash. The blood gathered darkly, like fruit, and rolled down my ankle into the cup of my black patent leather shoe.

I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.

Something about the frank, guileless blue eyes, the beautiful young bodies, the brief scent of the dying flowers smote me like the clean quick cut of a knife. And the blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.

Era com si el que jo volia matar no fos pas fins d'aquella pell […], sinó arreu, més endins, més secret, i molt més difícil d'atansar-hi.

I could feel the tears start to spurt from the screwed-up nozzles of my eyes.

It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves. I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.

Kendimi bu güneÅŸte, bir melek kadar ince ve uçucu bir hale gelene dek bir b?çak gibi bilemek istedim.

What word blue could get that dazzling drench of blue moonlight on the flat, luminous field of white snow, with the black trees against the sky, each with its particular configuration of branches? I felt shut in, imprisoned, aware that it was fine and shudderingly beautiful, but too gone with pain and aching to respond and become part of

Why does that green guck still spawn itself endlessly out of my head, dripping and clinging in my throat, my lungs, blocking in glutinous hunks behind my eyes: I feel sometimes I am blowing out the putrescent remains of my own decayed brains.

In life, love gnawed my skin To this white bone; What love did then, love does now: Gnaws me through.

I am a wound walking out of hospital. I am a wound that they are letting go

I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of non-feeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out.

the razor slitting the stomach, and the life throbbing away, red flood by red flood - I lay crouched, kneeling on the khaki quilt on the living room floor where there was air

There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart— It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

Not this troublous Wringing of hands, this dark Ceiling without a star.

We grow. It hurts at first.

I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain.

It all flowed over me with a screaming ache of pain . . . remember, remember, this is now, and now and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I don't want to blot the fear out, and blur the edges of living now. I want to become acutely aware of all that I've taken for granted. When you feel that this is the good bye, the last time, it hits you harder.

But, to salve my conscience, I must feel the pain of work

Last summer's reeds are all engraved in ice as is your image in my eye; dry frost glazes the window of my hurt; what solace can be struck from rock to make heart's waste grow green again? Who'd walk in this bleak place?

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Unforgiveness denies the victim the possibility of parole and leaves them stuck in the prison of what was, incarcerating them in their trauma and relinquishing the chance to escape beyond the pain.

A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.