Quotes About Anguish

Nous serons reconnus par les grandes douleurs.

To cease to love is worse than to hate, for say what you will, death is worse than suffering. I am crying because one is alone.

Every man is his own hell.

Angor animi - the sense of being in the act of dying, differing from the fear of death or the desire for death.

It used to be called angor animi – the anguish of the soul – the feeling that some people have, when they are having a heart attack, that they are about to die. Even now, more than thirty years later, I can see very clearly the dying man's despairing expression as he looked at me as I turned away.

I'm packed with broken glass and memories and it all hurts.

For some there is no music No lights No fire No untamed madness that breathes life There is work Anguish Frustration Rage Despair A dullness that rings like wooden thunder

I don't want to go with the smooth skin and the calm brow. I hope I end up a blithering idiot cursing the sun - hallucinating, screaming, giving obscene and inane lectures on street corners and public parks.

I wish I wasn't alive as much as you are dead

What a terrible thing war is, what a terrible thing!

It was as if the main screw in his head, which held his whole life together, had become stripped. The screw would not go in, would not come out, but turned in the same groove without catching hold, and it was impossible to stop turning it.

A little muzhik was working on the railroad, mumbling in his beard. And the candle by which she had read the book that was filled with fears, with deceptions, with anguish, and with evil, flared up with greater brightness than she had ever known, revealing to her all that before was in darkness, then flickered, grew faint, and went out forever.

The very nastiest and coarsest, I can't tell you. It is not grief, not dullness, but much worse. It is as if all that was good in me had hidden itself, and only what is horrid remains.

Ca era dimineata ori seara, vineri ori duminica ? ii era totuna; era la fel, aceeasi durere surda, chinuitoare, care nu-l lasa o clipa; mereu constiinta vietii care se stinge fara putinta de impotrivire, dar care mai dainuie; moartea care se apropia, cumplita si hada ? numai ea singura era realitatea, iar celelalte toate...minciuna. La ce bun sa mai tii socoteala zilelor, saptamanilor, ceasurilor ?

Oh, things are wretched, miserable!' said Oblonsky, and sighed heavily.

Your tears mean nothing! You have never loved me; you have neither heart nor honorable feeling! You are hateful to me, disgusting, a stranger—yes, a complete stranger!" With pain and wrath she uttered the word so terrible to herself—stranger.

She repeated continually, "My God! my God!" But neither "God" nor "my" had any meaning to her.

Life as it is leaves one no peace.

Non penso? Non c'è giorno e ora in cui non pensi e non mi rimproveri perché penso... Perché questi pensieri possono far impazzire. Far impazzire.

Three days and nights of awful suffering and death. Why, that may at once, any minute, come upon me too.

To me you are detestable, disgusting—a stranger, yes, a perfect stranger!' She uttered that word stranger, so terrible to herself, with anguish and hatred.

I am crushed, I am annihilated, I am no longer a man!

It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out, but went on turning uselessly in the same place.

Life, that series of increasing torments, flies faster and faster as it nears its end, the most terrifying suffering of all.