"pain"タグの名言

You can't be a rebel without the scars that come with it. Truth is, some days scars are just as ugly as they are beautiful.

Once you know yourself as the light, you will find that inner peace dominates every situation. It’s not that you will never feel fear, anxiety, or anger, but you will no longer get lost in your pain.

... I’m not running around blaming anybody. I’m doing the work. Which is what, exactly? Letting it hurt.

Pushing through the pain, man finally find his power.

Whoever endure pain, shall know peace.

Everyone is a 'spiritual student' doing 'spiritual work' because everyone is here and has to cope, one way or another, with life. The difference is that an aware person learns from their pain and they eventually create a happy life. An unaware person also has pain. However, as they do not know (or do not want to know) how to help themselves, they learn little or nothing from their pain. Thus their journey to happiness is long and indirect.

The quickest way to change your attitude toward pain is tho accept the fact that everything that happens to is has been designed for our spiritual growth.

Pain as a life-form in a universe of objects is unavoidable but suffering is a choice.

When someone cries so hard that it hurts their throat, it is out of frustration or knowing that no matter what you can do or attempt to do can change the situation. When you feel like you need to cry, when you want to just get it out, relieve some of the pressure from the inside - that is true pain. Because no matter how hard you try or how bad you want to, you can't. That pain just stays in place. Then, if you are lucky, one small tear may escape from those eyes that water constantly. That one tear, that tiny, salty, droplet of moisture is a means of escape. Although it's just a small tear, it is the heaviest thing in the world. And it doesn't do a damn thing to fix anything.

Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another: Why can't you see who I truly am?

If you want the rainbow, you have to deal with the rain.

You may marry Miss Grey for her fifteen pounds but you will always be my Willoughby. My nightmare. My sorrow. My past. My mistake. My regret. My love.

The minute I'm in a little pain ... your rough, tough, scary bad boy image totally falls apart.

‏أشعرُ بقلبي يغوصُ بينَ أضلُعي

If I can see pain in your eyes then share with me your tears. If I can see joy in your eyes then share with me your smile.

the saddest thing is to be a minute to someone, when you've made them your eternity.

A poet should be so crafty with words that he is envied even for his pains.

Some days I wake up and all I feel are the fractures in the flesh that covers the only me I've ever known. Some days, it's those exact fissures that let the light hiding inside me pour out and cover in gold everyone that found enough beauty in the cracks to stand close.

Love Sorrow Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must take care of what has been given. Brush her hair, help her into her little coat, hold her hand, especially when crossing a street. For, think, what if you should lose her? Then you would be sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness would be yours. Take care, touch her forehead that she feel herself not so utterly alone. And smile, that she does not altogether forget the world before the lesson. Have patience in abundance. And do not ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment by herself, which is to say, possibly, again, abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult, sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child. And amazing things can happen. And you may see, as the two of you go walking together in the morning light, how little by little she relaxes; she looks about her; she begins to grow.

Love is a fire that burns unseen, a wound that aches yet isn’t felt, an always discontent contentment, a pain that rages without hurting, a longing for nothing but to long, a loneliness in the midst of people, a never feeling pleased when pleased, a passion that gains when lost in thought. It’s being enslaved of your own free will; it’s counting your defeat a victory; it’s staying loyal to your killer. But if it’s so self-contradictory, how can Love, when Love chooses, bring human hearts into sympathy?