My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
I swear that I will tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if you enter that cottage.
Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.
In his dark room he is finally alone with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows.
A thousand tragedies per square mile.
Don't you think, that we make too much of our individual trials. We are all so prone to believe our own burden heavier than our neighbor's.
There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.
Transformations always occur during moments of crisis.
Whoever loves the more is at a disadvantage and must suffer.