Anything dead coming back to life hurts.
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us.
His pain of mind was most pitiable to see. It was the mental torture of a conscientious man, oppressed beyond endurance by an unintelligible responsibility involving life.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes.
Surely there can be little in this world more awful than the spectacle of a strong man in the moment when he is utterly weak and broken.
The balsam was not more healing to the wound in my head, than her kindness was healing to the wounds in my spirit.
If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.
She jumps on me for sharing pain with the living, but she tries to share it with the dead.
Because we would have had to pay the world back what we owed it…the pain of growing up.
The world is full of painful stories. Sometimes it seems as though there aren't any other kind and yet I found myself thinking how beautiful that glint of water was through the trees.
They could kill if they had to, and bear the pain of it or be destroyed by it. But if everyone could feel everyone else’s pain, who would torture? Who would cause anyone unnecessary pain?
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.