Quotes About Pain

Ac?tt?, deÄŸil mi? dedi oÄŸlan. Evet. Ac?tt?. Sahiden cesur musun? Orta karar. Yapt???n en cesurca ÅŸey ne? Yola kanl? bir balgam tükürdü. Bu sabah uyanmak, dedi. Sahiden mi? Hay?r. Bana ald?rma. Gel hadi, gidelim.

Tutte le cose piene di grazia e bellezza che ci portiamo nel cuore hanno un'origine comune nel dolore.

His head was pounding and his vision skewed in some way and he was vaguely amazed at being alive and not sure that it was worth it.

Imaginó el dolor del mundo como un parásito informe buscando el calor de las almas humanas donde incubar y creyó saber qué le hacía a uno vulnerable a sus visitas. Lo que no sabía era que no tenía mente y por tanto no podía conocer los límites de aquellas almas y temió que no existieran límites.

There are no absolutes in human misery, and things can always get worse.

They wheeled Suttree on. Bearing his pained bones in their boat of flesh. To where the deadcarriage waits in the dark. Perhaps the wrath of God after all.

offered him her throat. In his rage he seized her up by the arm but the arm broke in his hand. A muted snap, like a dry stick. She gasped and cried out with the pain. Mira, he shouted. Mira, puta, que has hecho.

Mm-hmm. Sorry. Don't need sorry. Not in this house. Sorry laid the hearth here. Sorry ways and sorry people and heavensent grief and heartache to make you pine for your death.

Suffering is part of the human condition and must be borne. But misery is a choice.

Suffering is a part of the human condition and must be borne. But misery is a choice.

All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain.

He thought that in the beauty of the world were hid a secret. He thought the world's heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world's pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.

Everything is painful to me. I think. Maybe I'm just a painful person.

There could be few men whose love for a woman had been written on his face with a knife.

In love - it sounded like a sickness without any cure, and wasn't that just how it sometimes felt?

Memories, so sweet and bitter.. they had both nourished and devoured him for so many years. Until a time came when they began to fade, turning faint and blurred, only an ache to be quickly pushed away because it went to your heart. For what was the use of remembering all you had lost?

It's a cruel world, don't you think?

He felt Death reaching out to him. But all of a sudden there was something else, too: words. Words that relieved the pain, cooled his brow, and spoke of love, nothing but love... It was his daughter's voice, and the White Women withdrew their pale hands as if they had burned themselves on her love.

She shed no tears. She just sat there, as if someone had cut out her heart.

Odd that your heart didn't simply stop when it hurt so much.

What a plague love is!

How ridiculous that water ran out of your eyes when your heart hurt. Tragic heroines in books tended to be amazingly beautiful. Not a word about swollen eyes or a red nose. Crying always gives me a red nose, thought Elinor. I expect that's why I'll never be in any book.

There it was, that familiar fear, love's terrible price.

What was she hoping to gain from his death? That it would numb the pain of his betrayal, or heal her injured pride? Her red sister didn't know much about love.