Lord Byron Quotes

The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.

But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be - a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

I tend to play 'tortured' a lot, whether it's physically or emotionally.

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

Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Here ah am in the junky's limbo; too sick tae sleep, too tired tae stay awake. A twilight zone ay the senses where nothing's real except the crushing, omnipresent misery n pain in your mind n body.

My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain.

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.

No, my secrets are of the grave and must be kept. And this is how I sometimes think of myself, as a great explorer who has discovered some extraordinary land from which he can never return to give his knowledge to the world: but the name of this land is hell.

Hell lies at the bottom of the human heart.

When we focus on our pain, our ache deepens.

I never imagined what it would be like to spend a 12-hour day crying and covered in blood.

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

Many people experience Gethsemane moments.

Physical pain however great ends in itself and falls away like dry husks from the mind, whilst moral discords and nervous horrors sear the soul.

Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.

I bleed like nobody else.

Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life.

The torture of a bad conscience is the hell of a living soul.

I don't think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it.

Nothing can so pierce the soul as the uttermost sigh of the body.

Man is born in a day, and he dies in a day, and the thing is easily over; but to have a sick heart for three-fourths of one's lifetime is simply to have death renewed every morning; and life at that price is not worth living.

Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.