Mignon McLaughlin Quotes

Listlessness to everything, but brooding sorrow, was the night that fell on my undisciplined heart. Let me look up from it - as at last I did, thank Heaven! - and from its long, sad, wretched dream, to dawn.

My heart is its own grave!

...bleak territory of the heart.

But solitude is sadness.' 'Yes; it is sadness. Life, however, has worse than that. Deeper than melancholy lies heart-break.

Pain is the question mark turned like a fishhook in the human heart.

I have seen things in my life that have broken me in spirit.

I understand the power of sorrow, and I understand how far it can take us from ourselves if we let it.

I feel hurt and pain times a million, all the time.

A brave heart? It feels like a swollen and aching thing in my chest.

When I'm in pain and grief and despair, my throat is clenched and my heart hurts.

It’s hurting my soul

The pain of the flesh is naught to that of the heart

In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms and kiss it. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.

This is an hour of history that troubles our minds and hurts our hearts.

I know nothing and my heart aches

It is said that scattered through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out onto a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag on your heart.

in the caves of my heart, where pain taps out its rhythms and sorrow sets its loss, i am without direction.

She did not want to talk of her sorrow, but with that sorrow in her heart she could not talk of outside matters.

My heart is heavy, she thought. It’s not just a saying. It is what is—heavy, a great stone lodged in my breast, pressing down my whole being. How can I even stand straight and look out upon the world? I am doubled over into myself and, for all the weight, find only emptiness.

I kept thinking how marvellous it would be if I could somehow tear my heart, which felt so heavy, out of my chest.

And so this young one, this young one whom I had so loved, I had to forsake, no matter how broken my heart, no matter how lonely my soul, no matter how bruised my intellect and spirit.

Despair can be like an iron band constricting the heart.

I’ve stopped talking because there’s really nothing left to say and there’s this piercing sort of pain where my heart is. Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.