Quotes About Anguish

For a while everything became too terrible, one could scarcely bear to be conscious.

Ludens felt again that special curious anguish caused by glimpses of a happiness he would have felt if only things were different — which could be different, perhaps could easily be different — but somehow maddeningly were not.

He had always thought of himself as a muddler, a sufferer, a victim.

You don't understand what it's like when things are terrible in your mind.

Oh if only I could take my mother away and never know of these things again. But it was impossible, the machine would go on and on and nothing would stop it. And no one from now on for ever would know how much he suffered and what it was really like to be him. How can I bear it, he thought, how can I go on bearing it without becoming something savage and awful?

There had been anguish, fear, indecision, then gradually the brightness of her presence cast beforehand, obliterating all else. Then I was with her and there was strange blankness, and utter calm of delight. Suddenly, down into the furthest crannies of being all was well. It was all so strangely simple too, with a blameless simplicity as of childhood.

She thought, I shall die of misery and pain.

the huge machine of her misery.

She lived in private with her own horror.

I am going mad, she thought, I am in some sort of silent raging grief of which I shall die, everything has gone.

And even in those seconds, and even as I wondered with anguish whether I would ever see her again, I lived with her in some angelic timeless world of quiet communication and absolute understanding.

Mary held her heart, contracted into a point of agony.

Sometimes he felt like a victim constantly revived in order to suffer more.

Ordinary consciousness simply becomes pain.

The easiest thing to think was that he was going to die. This was not exactly an intent to commit suicide, though he did consider suicide, it was rather a sense of the impossibility of surviving much longer, whatever he did, whatever he chose. He felt rent apart by an unremitting mental, felt as physical, strain. When he was alone he groaned aloud.

Little pictures out of hell.

He was conscious of his body as a heavy cold horrible container. He had the feeling, coming to him as the memory of a dream, of being a prisoner waiting to be tortured. The extremity of pain was yet to come. And even now he was denied to comfort of self-pitying misery and warm tears.

Thir must be less tae life than this. More pain, then more sleep/pain.

ah've found fuck all else, ZERO, tae fill this big, BLACK HOLE like a clenched fist in the centre ay my fucking chest …

Misery is the only thing in the world that has no end or edge.

No era un dolor de músculos entumecidos, sino de tristezas acumuladas y de abandono

mientras más profunda la herida más privado era el dolor.

el dolor es inevitable en el paso por esta vida, pero dicen que casi siempre es tolerable si no se le opone resistencia y no se agregan miedo y angustia.

My poor Isabel. Here, take this and write. Unburden your heart; if you don't you are going to die of anguish.