Quotes About Pain

It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.

One pain is lessened by another's anguish. ... Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.

It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

The grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break.

The worst was this: my love was my decay.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

Though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch Which hurts and is desired.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

La vida es mi tortura y la muerte será mi descanso.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest,hurts the deepest,but feels the strongest

I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear

O,speak to me no more;these words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!) — William Shakespeare hamlet

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves.

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.

O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past

All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

I will go tell him of Hermia's flight: Then to the wood will he to-morrow night Pursue her; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense: But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again.

O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

No, my heart is turn'd to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand.