Quotes About Pain

He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares.

Death is not the worst thing. It is His gift to us, and end to want and pain. On the day that we are born the Many-Faced God sends each of us a dark angel to walk through life beside us. When our sins and our sufferings grow to great to be borne, the angel takes us.

why is the world so full of pain and injustice ? » « Because of men like you. » « There are no 'men like me'. There's only me. »

Ned closed his eyes and opened them; it made no difference. He slept and woke and slept again. He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares.

All my memories are poisoned

Choosing … it has always hurt. And always will.

Aquello que amamos siepre acaba por destruirnos

Las cosas que amamos siempre acaban por destruirnos.

The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat.

If there are gods, why is the world so full of pain and injustice?" "Because of men like you." "There are no men like me. There's only me.

Las verdades más dolorosas son a las que más hay que aferrarse.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

The rat squealed as he bit into it, squirming wildly in his hands, frantic to escape.

This was a pain that did not touch the body, a pain that did not race along the nerve paths, a pain that filled the mind so completely and so shatteringly that not even the smallest part of you was free to think or plan or meditate. The pain was you, and you were the pain. There was nothing to dissociate from, no cool sanctum of thought where you might retreat. (from The Glass Flower)

This is an evil dream, she thought. But if she were dreaming, why did it hurt so much? She tried to ask the shadows, but they did not answer. Perhaps they did not hear her. Perhaps they were not real.

Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is...and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.

He cries behind his wall, I think, and no one knows, not even he. And no one will ever know, and in the end he'll always be alone in smiling pain.

At night Tyrion would oft hear her praying. A waste of words. If there are gods to listen, they are monstrous gods who torment us for their sport. Who else would make a world like this, so full of bondage, blood, and pain?

His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger.

Death is not the worst thing," the kindly man replied. "It is His gift to us, an end to want and pain. On the day that we are born the Many-Faced God sends each of us a dark angel to walk through life beside us. When our sins and our sufferings grow too great to be borne, the angel takes us by the hand to lead us to the nightlands, where the stars burn ever bright.

The pain was so huge he felt small and weak and helpless inside it,

The little shards of sleep that they allowed her turned into razors, slicing at her wits.

Then Royce's parry came a beat too late. The pale sword bit through the ringmail beneath his arm. The young Lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It seemed red as fire where they touched the snow.

Algunas heridas no llegan a cerrarse jamás, y sangran de nuevo a la menor mención.