Best 403 quotes in «agony quotes» category

Agony can bring greatness out of a person, but in the process, the person has to walk barefoot on red-hot coal while bleeding from all over the being.

Agony is not something that happens to you. To agonize is a choice.

Agony of the braveheart delivers humanity the gift of peace and progress.

And he howled in agony, in a pain that would never cease as long as he lived. His tortured voice echoed in those mountains for a long long time...

Amy! Never underestimate the rare tears of man..because that's always a sign that he has lost hope,out of options and more dangerously has nothing to lose...

And I realize, so suddenly that it hurts, just how empty a creature can be, while still filled to the brim with drowning agony.

Anger... agony... so familiar emotions.

Anesthesia was discovered. Do you know what it means to relieve man of his pain and suffering? Anesthesia is the most humane of all of man's accomplishments, and what a merciful accomplishment it was. For this great discovery we are indebted to Dr. W. T. G. Morton. Do you know that the religionists opposed the use of anesthesia on the ground that God sent pain as a punishment for sin, and it was considered the greatest of sacrileges to use it—just think of it, a sin to relieve man of his misery! What a monstrous perversion! This one instance alone should convince you of the difference in believing in God or not. No believer in God would have spent his energies to discover anesthesia. He would have been in mortal fear of the wrath of his God for interfering with his 'divine plan,' of making man suffer for having eaten of the fruit of the 'Tree of Knowledge.' The very crux of the matter is in this one instance. Man seeks to relieve his fellow man from the suffering of disease and the pangs of mental agony. The believers in God are content that man's suffering is ordained, and therefore he accepts life and its trials and tribulations as a penance for living. The fear of the wrath of God has been a stumbling block to progress.

A part of me knew... from the moment I saw her; her death would have been one wound too many that day.

As if one's capacity for pain had anything to do with life's apportionment of agonies, Mr. Kimmelbrod thought. Such idiocy.

At the moment of his awakening at the foot of the bodhi tree, the Buddha declared, How strange—all beings possess the capacity to be awakened, to understand, to love, and to be free, yet they don’t know it and they allow themselves to be carried away on the ocean of suffering.

A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy’s body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth.

But there can be intuitions even here of a more sublime agony.

Buy laughter with tears, and you'll be rich forever.

Clouds shed the agony of the sky and rain concludes it by covering us in filth. What do you think about the puddles of mud and traffic jams? I so hate rain.

Don't cry for the dead, for the dead is deaf, dumb, blind, lame, unemotional and dead.

He wants to run, but where? However far he goes, he will not escape, cannot escape his own loathsome self. He will always be trapped within his own body, his own mind. The emotional pain that comes with this realization is so strong, it feels physical. He senses it knotting and twisting inside his body, ready to destroy him from within. He is losing his grip, he is losing his mind. Does anyone else know what it is to be dead yet still alive? This is it. This is it . A half-world of torment, where memories frozen into oblivion slowly begin to thaw. A place where everything hurts, where your conscious mind has neither the strength to let you function in the real world, nor the power to return you to hibernation.

His eyes undress his ancient unrevealable emotions. … A suffocating pain is hidden in his eyes. His heart is locked in the depth of the eternal abyss. … His smile ripped my soul and hypnotized my brain, … Seduced in an indescribable agony of dreams. … I had dreams haphazardly about a phantasmagorical creature, unbelievably beautiful, … I felt his touch disintegrating my entire body, it was the apogee of an unborn world and the fallen of the existing one, (fragment from Bewitched, chapter Passion)

A torpid heart in agony needs a pen to bleed

Don't let the disappointments of today kill tomorrow's blessings, destroy the negative flashes of pessimism, and focus on the mirror of optimism.

Don’t let the agony, regret, or fog of yesterday blind you to the fact that each new day carries with it a plethora of opportunities to move your life into the right direction.

Espere" in Spanish, is the one word covering two meanings: "waiting" and "hoping". If life, however, offers no expectation or prospect, waiting represents time "wasted”. Waiting needs a future. If not, time is condemned to be "killed". In the event that we are lost in a gap of boredom and despair, we are driven back in a vacuum of senselessness and deadlocked in a point of nothingness. We are, so therefore, bound to watch the agony of "time". ("Waiting for a place behind the geraniums " )

Every heart needs a cutting part sharper than a blade to stab agony

Everyone was busy down in the town streets. Some are searching for wealth, others seeking glory. Some want to be become famous, while others want to be worthy…it’s a rotten world actually.

Finally, his whole body burst into flames and as the pain became unbearable, he threw his arms in the air and screamed in agony. In his final moments, the words of the Nazarene echoed through his mind: 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

God pours out his choicest blessings on those who are anxious that nothing shall stick to their hands. Individuals who value the rainy day above the present agony of the world will get no blessing from God.

Great art is an escape from the agony of why.

Guy thought of the Greek word agon, wasn’t it at once an athletic contest and a style of suffering, an agony?

Heaven is in hell.

He fell on his knees on that barren ground, Staring at the sky. And the sky opened up for him by raining. With the rain, every drop of his tear was washed down filling the cracks beneath. nobody got to see his pain and agony. And yet again he remained a mystery that was never solved.

Hell in life indicates a state of suffering, of agony, of torture (by others, by circumstances, or by ourselves), and of insipid colors and little joy. Hell is a heavy vibration that drags us spiraling down from the highest to the lowest, darkest vibrations..

How easily such a thing can become a mania, how the most normal and sensible of women once this passion to be thin is upon them, can lose completely their sense of balance and proportion and spend years dealing with this madness.

How it hurts to see you Achingly beyond my craving touch! Perhaps, that's the agony Of a bird with a broken wing The world seemingly at her feet Yet not; And nary a song to sing

If it is worth the pain. If it is worth the anguish. Then leave me lying in agony.

I did not know it was such pain to die; I thought that life had taken all the agonies to itself.

I'm trying to focus, telling myself these are just empty words, but I'm lying. Because somehow, just reading these words is too much; and the thought of her in pain is causing me an unbearable amount of agony.

Inventiveness can set you off any trauma, suffering or a deep agony, so keep tailing her hand.

I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time. “Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?” ”I love black,” I said. ”It suits me.” ”I suit you,” he said. I’m not so sure I love black anymore. And then, beyond the flowers, beneath the stained-glass window, beside the cross, I see the white casket. I see red, burning love disappear forever. As we pull away, my eyes stay glued to the casket. It’s proof that sometimes life does not go on. I look around. If tears could bring him back, there’d be enough to bring him back a hundred times. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, I hate good-byes. It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic. Memories might keep him alive. But they might kill me.

It ended by my almost believing (perhaps actually believing) that this was perhaps my normal condition. But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured in that struggle! I did not believe it was the same with other people, and all my life I hid this fact about myself as a secret. I was ashamed (even now, perhaps, I am ashamed): I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment in returning home to my corner on some disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last—into positive real enjoyment! Yes, into enjoyment, into enjoyment! I insist upon that. I have spoken of this because I keep wanting to know for a fact whether other people feel such enjoyment? I will explain; the enjoyment was just from the too intense consciousness of one’s own degradation; it was from feeling oneself that one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but that it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for you; that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into. And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all in accord with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute consciousness, and with the inertia that was the direct result of those laws, and that consequently one was not only unable to change but could do absolutely nothing. Thus it would follow, as the result of acute consciousness, that one is not to blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise that he actually is a scoundrel.

it is an ocean of burning oil I am cast adrift upon, no sea’s repose; I pass from waking agonies… to the semiconscious trance of torment in which the smaller, earlier, deeper rings of the brain know only that the nerves scream, the body aches, and there is no one to turn crying to for comfort.

It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.

I touch his cheek, see my hand shake, and quickly pull it back. He grabs my wrist, places my palm back against his cheek, and closes his eyes like he’s in agony. Or bliss. Or maybe both. Like he’s never been touched before.

It's better to be ignorant and live in bliss than know the truth and live in agony.

I was waiting ecstasy, agony arm in arm the raindrops were falling… swirling, unfurling, cascading, the leaves were sparkling… dazzling, smiling, playing hide and seek… I was waiting, I was waiting for you, that night ecstasy, agony arm in arm...

Man on his own is impotent and because of this impotence and the idea that he can do everything, there is a dilemma, the predicament of the human mind.

May the dead body of agony remain asleep resting its head on a pillow of flowers.

Most of our pain originates and is felt between our ears.

Mourons : de tant d’horreurs qu’un trépas me délivre. Est-ce un malheur si grand que de cesser de vivre ? La mort aux malheureux ne cause point d’effroi : Je ne crains que le nom que je laisse après moi

If we could understand and love the infinity of agonies which languish around us, all the lives which are hidden deaths, we should require as many hearts as there are suffering beings.

Love could bring you more agony. Are you willing to risk that again?