Quotes About Anguish

Mr. Solomon was right the worst kind of torture is watching someone you love get hurt.

These are the things I never say to anyone anymore. Not because I don't want to say them — I want to scream them. But these are the things that no one else can bear to hear.

My breath is coming too hard. I want to cry. To scream. To die.

The worst kind of torture is watching someone you love get hurt.

Sé que no crees que pueda soportar saber lo que pasó. ¿Pero no lo ves? No hay nada peor que no saber.

Tantos escombros dentro de mí. ¿Cómo vivir con tanta muerte?

Acaso te causan dolor mis fatigas, mis ansias de verte, mis quejas baldías, mi tedio implacable, mi horror por la vida.

No one alive is more tormented nor weaker than myself.

I asked certain rich men if they felt embittered. 'How could we not?' they said. So I asked them what caused this anguish. They blamed their wealth.

Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.

I am talking about misery and all of its implications.

Troppo miseria

Do you even know what death is, Tom?" I say. "It's dumb, and it's loud, and it smells bad; you're in Hell and you want to die to get away from it all, but you're already dead and there's nowhere to go. And what's worse is you know you're there because you deserve it, because you're such a fucking waste of skin and gristle. So no, I don't want to die. It's no fun and there's too many people like you there.

That's not terribly comforting, but I suppose it will have to do." "That pretty much sums up Hell.

So far, being dead is about as much fun as a barbed-wire G-string. Yes

Dead, lost, and with only half a pack of smokes. The dictionary definition of Hell." "Amen

McKenna dropped to her knees, then fell to her side on the asphalt, moaning

Oftentimes, the hottest fires of hell are fueled from within.

Is this hell, to be stuck in a continual loop of our greatest disappointments? [Richelle Bach's diary]

Pain makes a noise.

This boy, half-destroyed, screaming Drive into that tree, drive off the embankment. Henry, make something happen.

And words, little words, words too small for any hope or promise, not really soothing

I don't think I can take this much longer.

And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired.