Quotes About Pain

My feet are completely flat, but for most of my life they were still shaped like feet. Now, thanks to bunions, they're shaped more like states, wide boring ones that nobody wants to drive through.

The light is too painful for someone who wants to remain in darkness.

As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.

Naturally, the human being wants to forget pain.

Oh, measure it all out! Acceptable levels of misery and suffering!' The cane swung down, thumped hard on the ground. 'Acceptable? Who the fuck says any level is acceptable? What sort of mind thinks that?

The soul knows no greater anguish than to take a breath that begins in love and ends with grief.

The soul knows no greater anguish than to take a breath that begins with love and ends with grief. But there are other anguishes, many others. They unfold as they will, and to dwell within them is to understand nothing.

Something's nibbling my spleen!

The Lady takes most mortals unto her bosom by maladies of the colon." "Death by constipation?

When does it happen? All those wounds that ended up making us the adults we are?

The world vanished inside a shrieking, whirling ochre haze. Stones and gravel pelted them, drawing flinches from the stallion and grunts of pain from Kalam.

The wounded will wound / and every hurt is remembered.

The failing was that it was so easily won, and therefore became a thing of little worth for the recipient. Could no one see the hurt she felt, each and every time she was cast aside, sorely used, battered by rejection? Did they think she welcomed such feelings, the crushing despond of seeing the paucity of her worth?

Betrayal was the greatest of all crimes in Rallick's mind, for it took all that was human within a person and made it a thing of pain.

Fucking regrets. We all have them, don't we. Live long enough and maybe it's all we have, all we keep alive in our minds. Spirits below, what a miserable thought.

He rises bloodless from dust, with dead eyes that are pits twin reaches to eternal pain. He is the lodestone to the gathering clan, made anew and dream-racked. The standard a rotted hide, the throne a bone cage, the king a ghost from dark fields of battle. And now the horn moans on this grey clad dawn drawing the disparate host To war, to war, and the charging frenzy of unbidden memories of ice. - Lay of the First Sword

Sacrifice must be weighed by the pain of what is surrendered, and this alone was the true measure of a virtue's worth.

Pain worn without pause and for so long could itself become a mask.

flash of sorcery ignited the air above the front street, followed by an agonized shriek.

but as he watched, he saw the blossoming of wounds on the woman – her arms, legs, chest. Her expression held complete disbelief.

Bloodflies rode her drawn gasps into her mouth, biting as she gagged and spat.

The scars without are the scars within.

You – you . . .' Her words were drowned out in a flood of pain rising up within her, an anguish more thorough in shattering her than anything she'd yet suffered. She staggered back a step. Baudin's small, flat eyes held steady on her. Heboric cleared his throat. 'We'd best hurry.

Sites of battle held on to a madness, as if the blood that had soaked into the soil remembered pain and terror and held locked within it the echoes of screams and death cries.