Quotes About Pain

I've heard it argued that long ago pain begat consciousness...Adversity forced awareness on us, and it works, it bites us when we go too near the fire, when we love too hard. Those felt sensations are the beginning of the invention of the self...God said, Let there be pain. And there was poetry. Eventually.

Adversity forced awareness on us, and it works, it bites us when we go too near the fire, when we love too hard. Those felt sensations are the beginning of the invention of the self. And if that works, why not feeling disgust for shit, fearing the cliff edge and strangers, remembering insults and favours, liking sex and food? God said, Let there be pain. And there was poetry. Eventually.

His tears were for joy, for a sudden warmth of understanding that did not yet have these terms of definition: how loving and good people were, how kind the world was that had ambulances in it that came quickly out of nowhere whenever there was sorrow and pain. Always there, an entire system, just below the surface of everyday life, watchfully waiting, ready with all its knowledge and skill to come and help, embedded within a greater network of kindness he had yet to discover.

I've heard it argued that long ago pain begat consciousness. To avoid serious damage a simple

The sound was so icy and bleak that he imagined his daughter had seen in her dreams the unavoidable future, all the sorrow and confusion to come, and he felt himself shrink in horror. But the moment passed, and soon Sebastian and Monica sank again, or they rose, for there seemed to be no physical dimensions in the space they swam or tumbled through, only sensation, only pleasure so focused, so pointed it was a reminder of pain.

She turned her face into the pillow and let her tears drain into it, and felt that yet more was lost, when there was no witness to her sorrow.

Adversity forced awareness on us, and it works, it bites us when we go too near the fire, when we love too hard. Those felt sensations are the beginning of the invention of the self. And if that works, why not feeling disgust for shit, fearing the cliff edge and strangers, remembering insults and favours, liking sex and food? God said, Let there be pain. And there was poetry. Eventually. So what's the use of

hung-over groan, the elective malady's melody.

He doesn't trouble himself with closing the shutter - total darkness, sense deprivation, might activate his thoughts. Better to stare at something and hope to feel his eyelids grow heavy. Already, his tiredness seems fragile or unreliable, like a pain that comes and goes. He needs to nurture it, and to avoid thoughts at all costs.

Voleva fuggire, buttarsi da sola sul letto a faccia in giù e assaporare il dolore cocente di quel momento, e poi seguire con il pensiero il diramarsi di ogni possibile conseguenza fino al punto esatto che precedeva la devastazione. Aveva bisogno di contemplare a occhi chiusi la ricchezza di quello che aveva perso, di quello che aveva ceduto, e di prefigurarsi il nuovo stato delle cose.

She was not in pain, not yet, but she was retreating before its threat.

If she went, what was he going to do with all these loving facts, these torturing details? If she wasn't with him, how would he bear all this knowledge of her alone? The force of these considerations drove the words out of them, they came as easily as breath. I love you, he said.

The self-made hell was an interesting construct. Nobody escaped making one, at least one, in a lifetime. Some lives were nothing but. It was a tautology that self-inflicted misery was an extension of character.

What happened to the alpha-wolf? LEGOs. Legos? It sounded Greek but I couldn't recall anything mythological with that name. Wasn't it an island? He was carrying a load of laundry into the basement and tripped on the old set of LEGOs his kids left on the stairs. Broke two ribs and an ankle.

She handed him a glass of water and two Aleve gelcaps. "They're anti-inflammatories. They will dull the pain a little bit and keep down swelling and redness. Swallow the pills, don't chew." "Well, I thought I'd stick them into my nose and impersonate a walrus, but if you insist, I'll swallow them.

How are you? Perfectly fine, he said. Are your ribs broken? Probably not. Cracked at most. We fought very carefully. Did this settle anything? It made me feel better, he said, sitting up. Did you see me kick him in the kidneys? I saw.

The last time we met, he tortured me," Ascanio said. He what? Could this get any worse? "You're still alive," Hugh said. "Clearly my heart wasn't in it.

I closed my eyes. "Are you okay?" "I'm tired. My knee is hurting again and I'm trying to teleport myself upstairs." "Um, Kate, you can't do that." "I know. But I'm trying very hard. Let me know if I start fading?

And just when I thought the pain had dulled, my mind would betray me and bring Dad back to life in my dreams. Sometimes I didn't realize that he was dead until I awoke and then it was like a punch in the stomach. And sometimes I knew in my dream that I was dreaming, and I woke up crying.

George turned to her. His blue eyes widened. His lovely face took on a forlorn, deeply troubled expression. He leaned forwar, and, in a theatrical whisper, said, 'My past is tragic. I wouldn't want to burden you with it. It's a pain I must suffer alone. In the rain. In silence.

What happened? You fell. Really? What did I fall into? My fist. That explains the headache.

People around me died, usually in horrible and bloody ways.

Is it going to hurt? You bet. Sergeant Major had a lousy bedside manner.

Andrea once told me that I had a problem processing emotional pain. I couldn't handle it, so I replaced it with physical pain instead: either I inflicted it on others or I suffered through it myself. Well, I had physical pain aplenty. If she was right, I should be floating on a cloud of bliss right about now.