To labour is the lot of man below; And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
For 30 years, I lived in pure hell.
Life is a long agonized illness only curable by death.
I've lived too long with pain. I won't know who I am without it
All the Hennessy and weed can't hide, the pain i feel inside, its like I'm living just to die.
Hope is the most sensitive part of a poor wretch's soul; whoever raises it only to torment him is behaving like the executioners in Hell who, they say, incessantly renew old wounds and concentrate their attention on that area of it that is already lacerated.
The wretched hasten to hear of their own miseries.
It's very painful for us to feel we deserve a life. That's the toughest thing. That we deserve to have a life. That can take a lifetime.
Pain is a more terrible lord of mankind than even death itself.
What a blessed if painful thing, this business of being alive.
I do believe that reality is dreadful and that you are forced to choose it in the end or go crazy, but that it kills you.
There's only one thing that's certainAnd that's everybody, everybody's hurting
I'm as cruel as life. As cruel as love.
Oh death, death, why do you never come to me thus summoned always day by day?
life itself is not the miracle. that pain should be so constant, that's the miracle -
If you have a pulse, you're going to have pain.
Man is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another.
But it is not that easy, is it? I seek a lasting relationship, something permanent in a world of change, in which all is transitory, ephemeral, and full of pain.
Did no one tell him that pain lives in this sand, dug in and watered with our blood?
Life is a business that does not cover the costs.
A still-born son os superior to a foolish son endowed with a long life. The first causes grief for but a moment while the latter like a blazing fire consumes his parents in grief for life.
My misfortune is doubly painful to me because it will result in my being misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the company of others, no intelligent conversation, no exchange of information with peers; only the most pressing needs can make me venture into society. I am obliged to live like an outcast.
There is nothing alive more agonized than man / of all that breathe and crawl across the earth.
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.
One night she hid the pink cotton scarf from her raincoat in the pillowcase when the nurse came around to lock up her drawers and closets for the night. In the dark she had made a loop and tried to pull it tight around her throat. But always just as the air stopped coming and she felt the rushing grow louder in her ears, her hands would slacken and let go, and she would lie there panting for breath, cursing the dumb instinct in her body that fought to go on living
