Surrounded by the flames of jealousy, the jealous one winds up, like the scorpion, turning the poisoned sting against himself.
No matter how much I feel, I’m not going to let it out. If I have to cry, I’m gonna cry on the inside. If I have to bleed, I’ll bruise. If my heart starts going crazy, I’m not gonna tell everyone in the world about it. It doesn’t help anything. It just makes everyone’s life worse.
I punish myself more than anybody else does if I am stupid about my actions, and I suffer, really suffer.
My twenties were a write-off. It's a cruel illness, because you can't see it and you can hide it so well.
Concealed sorrow bursts the heart, and rages within us as an internal fire.
Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches
The modern parallel in discrimination is “only the victims of discrimination can really know how bad it is.”
She felt so much emotionally, she would say, that a physical outlet - physical pain - was the only way to make her internal pain go away. It was the only way she could control it.
The wound that bleedeth inward is most dangerous.
When you hang on a little too long, you disappoint your fans, and deep, deep down inside, you're disappointing yourself, and that's the part that hurts you the most.
The deepest wounds aren't the ones we get from other people hurting us. They are the wounds we give ourselves when we hurt other people.
Pain narrows vision. The most private of sensations, it forces us to think of ourselves and little else.
The worst things weren't outside of you.
If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be the objects of pity?
We secretly believe that if only we achieve some elusive goal - fitting into a pair of skinny jeans, or redoing our kitchen or getting that promotion - that it will make us happy. But the pain of our insecurity is hidden in all that racing around.
That internal ache is the starting point of country music. If it's a happy song and I can still feel sad in it? That's my favorite.
Funny how internal scars never healed. They were the souvenirs of the past.
It makes me sad, sad inside, to see a warrior without his pride.
The worst wounds, the deadliest of them, aren't the ones people see on the outside. They're the ones that make us bleed internally.