Quotes About Pain

I would convert to Judaism if the operation didn't hurt so much.

A couple of back operations didn't cure anything, but instead, things got worse and worse and worse.

Human life--that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating. Compared to it there was nothing else of any value. It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass, nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams.

The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks.

Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return.

But we who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments. We have nothing else to think of. Suffering ? curious as it may sound to you ? is the means by which we exist, because it is the only means by which we become conscious of existing; and the remembrance of suffering in the past is necessary to us as the warrant, the evidence, of our continued identity.

My writing has gone to bits - like my character. I am simply a self-conscious nerve in pain.

Behind Joy and Laughter there may be a temperament, coarse, hard and callous. But behind Sorrow there is always Sorrow. Pain, unlike Pleasure, wears no mask.

The life that was to make his soul would mar his body.

For each man kills the thing he loves yet each man does not die he does not die a death of shame on a day of dark disgrace nor have a noose about his neck, nor a cloth upon his face nor drop feet foremost through the floor into an empty space He does not sit with silent men who watch him night and day Who watch him when he tries to weep and when he tries to pray Who watch him lest himself should rob the prison of its prey

I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.

From your silken hair to your delicate feet you are perfection to me. Pleasure hides love from us, but pain reveals it in its essence.

out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star, there is pain

we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.

And each man kills the thing he loves.

I can sympathise with everything, except suffering, cried Lord Harry, Shrugging his shoulders. I cannot sympathise with that. It is too ugly, too horrible, too distressing. There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain.

I have also learnt sympathy with suffering. To me, suffering seems now a sacramental thing, that makes those whom it touches holy.

There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's sores the better.

Debe la alegría vestirse con lo que fabrico el Dolor?

But it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of the senses had never been understood, and that they had remained savage and animal merely because the world had sought to stave them into submission or to kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them elements of a new spirituality, of which a fine instinct for beauty was to be the dominant characteristic.

I can sympathize with everything except suffering, said Lord Henry, shrugging his shoulders. I cannot sympathize with that. It is too ugly, too horrible, too distressing. There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathize with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's sores, the better.

There is something very morbid about modern sympathy with pain.

Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions.