Quotes About Pain

The truth is, I don't have a catchy method of conversing and yet, unfortunately, suffer on a minute-to-minute basis the agony of the unexpressed thought.

The pain of letting go of grief is just as painful or even more painful than the grief itself.

That the pain of letting go of grief is just as painful or even more painful than the grief itself. It means goodbye.

I don't have a catchy method of conversing and yet, unfortunately, suffer on a minute-to-minute basis the agony of the unexpressed thought.

Why is it so painful to write about people who aren't assholes? I asked Wilson. Because I would start to love them, he said.

So much of what exists in the outside world is kept out of Molotschna, but curses, like pain, always find a way in.

Everytime I looked at it I was reminded that I was, at that very moment, not bleeding from my face. And those are powerful words of hope, really. - Nomi

Estem perdent el temps, clama la Greta, passant la càrrega, el sac de rocs, de l'una a l'altra, traient-nos el dolor de sobre. Això, no ho hem de fer. No ens hem de passar la patata calenta del patiment. Que cadascú s'empassi el seu, diu. L'inspirem, el païm i el convertim en combustible.

She told me that the brain is built to forget things as we continue to live, that memories are meant to fade and disintegrate, that skin, so protective in the beginning because it has to be to protect our organs, saga eventually - because the organs aren't so hot anymore either - and sharp edges become blunt, that the pain of letting go of grief is just as panful or even more painful than the grief itself.

We mustn't do this. We mustn't play Hot Potato with our pain. Let's absorb it ourselves, each of us, she says. Let's inhale it, let's digest it, let's process it into fuel.

People here just can't wait to die, it seems. It's the main event. The only reason we're not all snuffed at birth is because that would reduce our suffering by a lifetime.

When she looked at me she saw a child surrounded by flames, screaming. And that must have been hard for her.

I don't know why saying bowel movement and stool is better than vag and piehole. It doesn't matter what words you use in life, it's not gonna prevent you from suffering.

Such anger is a destructive emotion. It eats away at whatever peace you have, and in the end it causes nothing but greater pain that you began with

Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do somehing else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn't. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted.

I made such a fool of myself," she lamented. "Love does not make you a fool." "He didn't love me back." "That does not make you a fool, either." "Just tell me …" Her voice cracked. "When does it stop hurting?" "Sometimes never.

I hope you never hear those words. Your mom. She died. They are different than other words. They are too big to fit in your ears. They belong to some strange, heavy, powerful language that pounds away at the side of your head, a wrecking ball coming at you again and again, until finally, the words crack a hole large enough to fit inside your brain. And in so doing, they split you apart.

You can feel the whole world and still feel lost in it. So many people are in pain-- no matter how smart or accomplished--they cry, they yearn, they hurt. But instead of looking down on things, they look up, which is where I should have been looking, too. Because when the world quiets to the sound of your own breathing, we all want the same things: comfort, love and a peaceful heart.

A heart weighs more when it splits in two; it crashes in the chest like a broken plane.

But hurting ourselves to inflict pain on others is just another cry to be loved.

When death takes your mother, it steals that word forever.

Sometimes, kids want you to hurt the way they hurt.

the pain we suffer is a way to make us appreciate what comes next.

Because we embrace our scars more than our healing. [...] We can recall the exact day we got hurt, but who remembers the day the wound was gone?