Blaise Pascal Quotes

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

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

My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it.

I cry all the time.

This tragic brow, these closed eyes, eyebrows raised and knotted.

Nobody knows the pain I've been through.

Oh, darling, I've been so miserable.

I was extremely timid and to be made to feel that I was not wanted, although in a place where I had every right to be, even months afterwards caused me sometimes weeks of pain. Every time any one of these disagreeable incidents came into my mind, my heart sank, and I was anew tortured by the thought of what I had endured, almost as much as the incident itself.

Life is a succession of afflictions for the heart.

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

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

Can’t sleep ‘cause all the dirt make my heart hurt

I know nothing and my heart aches

Even as the words came out of my mouth, my heart was dying a million deaths.

I remember the ache I used to feel when she got too close, how it felt like grief, how it felt like a loss, like I was falling, falling into nothing, how it clenched me up and made me want to weep, made me actually weep.

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

Lofty mountains are full of springs; great hearts are full of tears.

My heart beat Beats me senselessly Why's everything Gotta be so intense with me.

Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust.

Cries of despair, misery, sobbing grief are a kind of wealth.

My heart's broken,' he thought. 'If I feel this way my heart must be broken.

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.