Quotes About Anguish

Break heart, drop blood, and mingle it with tears.

He shuffled along with the hang-dog look of the cosmically fucked.

I tried cutting myself to express my heartbreak over Tommy (Lord Flood) rejecting me, but OMFG it hurts like flaming fuck.

And there you are, sobbing like you've been dirked in the dick by grief's dark dagger. Ergo. Ursa. Arborem

Heart broken-he felt a deep ache in his chest, like that of a sore muscle, and each beat of his heart pained him

Tenho um novo nome para a dor. - Qual é? - A Aniquiladora. Porque, quando estamos em sofrimento, nada mais pode existir. Nem o pensamento. Nem o sentimento. Apenas o impulso no sentido de fugirmos da dor. Quando é suficientemente forte, a Aniquiladora despoja-nos de tudo o que faz de nós o que somos, até sermos reduzidos a criaturas inferiores ao animais, criaturas com um só desejo e um só objectivo: a fuga.

stripped me of reason, which is a living death.

But now he felt a deep ache in his chest—like that of a sore muscle—and each beat of his heart pained him. His

As Roran watched, the man's arms, neck, and chest shriveled, and his bones appeared in sharp relief-from the bowlike curve of his collarbones to the hollow saddle of his hips, where his stomach hung like an empty waterskin. His lips puckered and drew back farther than they were intended to over his yellow teeth, baring them in a grisly snarl, while his eyeballs deflated as if they were engorged ticks being squished empty of blood, and the surrounding flesh sank inward.

It was the worst of things: loss utter and complete, without a chance of restoration.

Truly, a life in constant pain is the life of the damned.

The gates of memory would roll open—old joys would stretch out their arms to them, old hopes and dreams would call to them, and they would stir beneath the burden that lay upon them, and feel its forever immeasurable weight. They could not even cry out beneath it; but anguish would seize them, more dreadful than the agony of death.

But it is not likely that he had reference to the kind of anguish that comes with destitution, that is so endlessly bitter and cruel, and yet so sordid and petty, so ugly, so humiliating—unredeemed by the slightest touch of dignity or even of pathos. It is a kind of anguish that poets have not commonly dealt with; its very words are not admitted into the vocabulary of poets—the details of it cannot be told in polite society at all.

The vilest deeds, like poison weeds,             Bloom well in prison air;           It is only what is good in Man             That wastes and withers there;           Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,             And the Warder is Despair.

Your heart is raw and bleeding. Everything is strange and terrible.

The magic of the revolution had joined with people's fear of death, their horror of torture, their anguish when the first breath of the camps blew on their faces.

There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering--a hell of boredom.

Il dort. Quoique le sort fût pour lui bien étrange, Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n'eut plus son ange. La chose simplement d'elle-même arriva, Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le four s'en va.

In this way, his unhappy soul struggled with its anguish. Eighteen hundred years before this unfortunate man, the mysterious Being, in whom all the sanctities and all the sufferings of humanity come together, He too, while the olive trees trembled in the fierce breath of the Infinite, had brushed away the fearful cup that appeared before him, streaming with shadow and running over with darkness, in the star-filled depths. (pg. 236)

Something more terrible than a hell where one suffers may be imagined, and that is a hell where one is bored.

So struggled beneath its anguish this unhappy soul. Eighteen hundred years before this unfortunate man, the mysterious Being, in whom are aggregated all the sanctities and all the sufferings of humanity, He also, while the olive trees were shivering in the fierce breathe of the Infinite, had long put away from his hand the fearful chalice that appeared before him, dripping with shadow and running over with darkness, in the star-filled depths.

Happy, even in anguish, is he to whom God has given a soul worthy of love and grief! He who has not seen the things of this world, and the heart of men in this double light, has seen nothing, and knows noting of the truth.

Maintenant je suis captif. Mon corps est aux fers dans un cachot, mon esprit est en prison dans une idee. Une horrible, une sanglante, une implacable idee! Je n'ai plus qu'une pense, qu'une conviction, qu'une certitude: condamne a mort!

They say that it is, nothing, that one does not suffer, that it is an easy end; that death in this why is very much simplified. Ah! then, what do they call they call this agony of six weeks, this summing up in one day? What then is the anguish of this irreparable day, which is passing so slowly and yet so fast? What is this ladder of tortures which terminates in the scaffold?