Quotes About Anguish

Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

A wounded deer leaps highest, A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs: A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings! Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, you're hurt exclaim

If the stillness is Volcanic In the human face When upon a pain Titanic Features keep their place- If at length the smoldering anguish Will not overcome- And the palpitating Vinyard In the dust, be overthrown?

So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go Where none of us should be, Immediately, that anguish stooped Almost to jealousy.

You have seen flowers at morning satisfied with the dew, and those same sweet flowers at noon with their heads bowed in anguish before the mighty sun; think you these thirsty blossoms will now need nought but— dew ? No, they will cry for sunlight, and pine for the burning noon, tho' it scorches them, scathes them...

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy. For each beloved hour Sharp pittances of years, Bitter contested farthings And coffers heaped with tears.

I like a look of Agony, Because I know it's true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate a Throe— The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death— Impossible to feign The Beads upon the Forehead By homely Anguish strung.

parting is all we need to know of hell

I felt a funeral in my brain

Sorrow seems more general than it did, and not the estate of a few persons, since the war began; and if the anguish of others helped one with one's own, now would be many medicines.

Hay algo que me gusta en la agonía, y es que sé que es verdad; los hombres no simulan convulsiones, no imitan el dolor. Unos ojos se vidrian, y es la muerte. Imposible de fingir las gotas de sudor sobre la frente que la inhábil angustia va ensartando.

There is no grief like heartbreak.

Remember the pain?' thought Artemis. I hate myself. I really do.

the ultimate despair.

she died of internal weeping

broken. "Please, God. Let him live." He slumped to the ground then, elbows holding his weight as he buried his face in his arms and cried.

Crick had arrived and stumbled into the house, intent on rest and quiet before he killed himself to escape the pain.

What have I ever done to you…." There it went, two octaves, and he wrenched it back under his control. "What have I ever done to you that you would hurt me like that?

Because the songs that don't make the listener feel like barbed wire is ripping through their chest make them feel like someone's stitching up the wound with a rusty needle and a bottle of scotch for the pain. It's

And when I have that feeling, that feeling like I need a handout, desperate, I want to pull my skin off and turn into dust.I want to throw myself back to the angels and tell them to start over,start over without me cause you put the screws in loose, you put the hinges in wrong.

Christ, I'm in Hell and they wear uniforms.

This is my favorite sin: despair.

Most of us have days or weeks or months so awful, we wish we'd never been born.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.