Quotes About Pain

there was a feeling as if I carried a small leaden coffin in the place of my heart

Don't be hurt by me. I can't help being hurt —

For a while everything became too terrible, one could scarcely bear to be conscious.

The wound with which she travelled vibrated within her. She thought, I shall never have what I desire. I shall become bitter and defeated and dim, and I shall never really paint, I am a freak, a crippled animal, something to be put down, put to sleep, put out of its misery.

We cannot really love the dead. We love a fantasm that secretly consoles. What love sometimes mistakes for death is a kind of intense suffering, a pain that can be endured and absorbed. But the idea of a real ending, that cannot be envisaged . . . Indeed, in the language of love the concept of an ending is devoid of sense. (So we must go beyond love or utterly change it.)

I was brimming with anger and hatred. I hated, not society, puny sociologists' abstraction, I hated the universe. I wanted to cause it pain in return for the pain it caused me.

Happiness must exist. It can't all be made of pain. But what is happiness made of?

With a fluency that amazed me lies and treachery streamed from my lips. I was in extreme pain.

We did not exist all that much. We could suffer like mad all the same. Something was there, a wounded complex of resentment and anxiety and pain, something half crushed, something swallowed, not yet digested, and still screaming.

I tried to think these thoughts but they remained intolerably abstract, while a pain in my body told me what was real.

You don't understand what it's like when things are terrible in your mind.

He did not consciously wish for death but he grieved at night for some blank thing which he could not even name.

He thought, I haven't got much longer before some sort of collapse. He could not think if this would be a collapse of mind or of body. Mind and body seemed utterly fused now in cold aching pain, and darkness.

One knows what being in love is like and it is a very terrible thing.

She thought, I shall die of misery and pain.

the huge machine of her misery.

Deep, deepest inside his wounded heart. he felt the new pain, the pain which would now travel with him always.

There are violent things in my heart. Perhaps they have been festering there ever since that change . And now I have run in here to find some different pain, some mystery of myself to keep secret, something which, for this short time, is absolutely not Jack.

Yet the love is there, the love is there — only it's as if it's so wounded it has curled up and gone into a black hole.

Guilt is one way of attaching a meaning to a death. We want to find a meaning. It lessens the pain.

Those were the tortures of the night. The tortures of the day consisted in pretending to eat, pretending to play, pretending to be happy, passing the hours, enduring the sympathetic looks and the loving remarks.

Louise was a jewel locked away; and after the first 'if only' period had passed and Clement had got used to 'Mrs Anderson', he felt that his love for her had not faded, but had suffered a sea change into something special and unique, causing a special and unique and much valued, pain.

Mary held her heart, contracted into a point of agony.

Sometimes he felt like a victim constantly revived in order to suffer more.