Quotes About Anguish

Pain is very often a maimed creature without a mouth.

down the stone steps to the windswept beach, her raven tresses flowing out behind her. She scanned the empty sands, and when she saw no sign of Blaine, a great cry of anguish escaped her lips. She could not live without him! She would sooner die!

Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough.

Life is a useless passion.

It is certain that we cannot escape anguish, for we are anguish.

Everything that burns, everything that rips me apart, I want to suffer with my body. I'd rather have a hundred wounds, whips, poisons - than this kind of suffering in the head, this phantom of suffering, which touches me softly and caresses me without ever really hurting.

Si seulement je pouvais m'arrêter de penser, ça irait déjà mieux. Les pensées, c'est ce qu'il y a de plus fade. Plus fade encore que de la chair. Ça s'étire à n'en plus finir et ça laisse un drôle de goût. Et puis il y a les mots, au-dedans des pensées, les mots inachevés, les ébauches de phrases qui reviennent tout le temps.

The recruit who reports for active duty at the beginning of the war can in some instances be afraid of death, but more often he is 'afraid of being afraid'; that is, he is filled with anguish before himself.

I am free,' he said suddenly. And his joy changed, on the spot, to a crushing sense of anguish.

And every man ought to say to himself, "Am I really the kind of man who has the right to act in such a way that humanity might guide itself by my actions?" And if he does not say that to himself, he is masking his anguish. There is no question here of the kind of anguish which would lead to quietism, to inaction. It is a matter of a simple sort of anguish that anybody who has had responsibilities is familiar with.

Her eyes stare at me but she seems not to see me; she looks as though she were lost in her suffering.

Aunque me quisiera con toda su alma, sería igualmente un amor de muerta.

And you know what wickedness is, and shame, and fear. There were days when you peered into yourself, into the secret places of your heart, and what you saw there made you faint with horror.

At this very moment—it's frightful—if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing.

Belief needs something terrible to make it work, I find--blood, nails, a bit of anguish.

In struggling against anguish one never produces serenity; the struggle against anguish only produces new forms of anguish.

STOP SMILING ALREADY THE WORLD IS HORRIBLE GO AWAY.

It doesn't mean anything, this twisting feeling in my chest.

WHAT WAS THIS. WHY DID IT HURT SO MUCH. WHO COULD SHE SET ON FIRE TO MAKE IT STOP.

EVERYTHING HURTS AND I HATE THE WORLD.

slashing pain across the body that betrayed her

Can't sleep 'cause all the dirt make my heart hurt

Before her eyes was the violent blue sky— nothing else. For an endless moment she looked into it. Like a great overpowering sound it destroyed everything in her mind, paralyzed her. Someone once had said to her that the sky hides the night behind it, shelters the person beneath from the horror that lies above. Unblinking, she fixed the solid emptiness, and the anguish began to move in her. At any moment the rip can occur, the edges fly back, and the giant maw will be revealed.

Only the truly anguished and distressed seriously consider ending their lives.