Best 5825 quotes in «hurt quotes» category

Are you hurt?" "Absolutely," I said. "Especially in my everywhere.

Are you hurt?” the woman asks. “Just my—” Even after the water, her voice comes out as a dry hiss. She clears her throat and tries again. “Just my ankle.” “Can you tell us where the others are? Are they . . . ?” Charlie fades off, but she knows how the question ends. “They’re still out there. Still alive.” Hallelujah will not think about the alternative. But by not trying not to think about it, she’s thinking about it, and it’s making her feel panicky. “I was the only one who could walk, so I—” She gulps. Draws in a shaky breath. Charlie dismounts his bike and squats down next to her. “Go on,” he says. His voice is soft. His accent is southern. But not hillbilly southern. Deep South. He’s not from around here either. She can’t believe her mind is wandering like this. She tries to focus. “We found—Jonah found a trail, and I followed it to this road. They’re at a campsite by the trail. I . . .” Hallelujah falters. “I don’t know how far. I wasn’t walking very fast. We haven’t eaten in . . . a while. And Rachel—she’s sick. She was throwing up. And Jonah cut his leg and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. . . .” “Jesus,” the woman says.

Are you in love with him?’ She kept her lips tightly closed as if holding something back. ‘Are you in love with me?’ She tried to answer but nothing came out. She lowered her eyes to the floor.

Ariel: "Why do such stories always sound so sad? Why can't people part on more amiable terms?" Danny: "Human nature," he said. "When feelings change and a person is at their most insecure, it's a matter of personal survival, I think. It's not always meant to hurt, but it often does.

Artadhyan (mournful contemplation that hurts the self) and raudradhyan (wrathful contemplation that hurts the self and others) occur as long as one has not met a Gnani Purush (the Enlightened One). To look for ways to become free from both of these has been called in this time cycle as dharmadhyan (auspicious contemplation that gives happiness to one’s own self & others). Otherwise, there is no dharmadhyan in this current time cycle. Therefore, whatever prevents artadhyan and raudradhyan is called dharmadhyan.

Arrogance will kill anything and everything you ever possibly have.

Art is created by artists. If ever he’d try to take lessons, it would be too many rules, too many steps. It would make his head hurt, not being able to splatter his emotions onto paper in his own way.

As always, we realize that at the time of goodbye, even thank you is lonely

As far as I can figure, the way that it works is this: everyone has something that happened to them. The thing that we each carry. And you can see it in people, if you look. See it in the way someone walks, in the way someone takes a compliment, sometimes you can just see it in someone’s eyes. In one moment of desperation, of fear, in one quick moment you can see that thing that happened. Everyone has it. The thing that keeps you up at night, or makes you not trust people, or stops love. The thing that hurts. And to stop it, to stop the hurt, you have to turn it into a story. And not just a story you play over and over for yourself, but a story that you tell. A story’s not a story unless you tell it. And once you tell it, it’s not yours anymore. You give it away. And once you give it away, it’s not something that hurts you anymore, it’s something that helps everyone who hears it. It’s the kind of thing that’s hard to explain. It’s probably best if we just show you how it works.

As I watched the sky morph shades of amber and amethyst, of fiery orange and smoldering pink, I always wondered if colors and images like these once inspired the greats before us to construct their beauty and masterpieces.

As long as it still hurts, it isn’t love yet.

As long as anger-pride-deceit-greed (kashays – the ones that gives pain to soul) have not gone away, one has not attained vitraag’s (the enlightened one’s) religion in the slightest. The religion of the Enlightened One’s (Vitaraag Dharm) means absence of anger-pride-deceit-greed (kashays).

A small hole in his shirt revealed a gooey red blob right in the meaty part above his armpit, blood pouring from the wound. It hurt. It hurt bad. If he’d thought his headache downstairs had been tough, this was like three or four of those, all smashed into a coil of pain right there in his shoulder. And spreading through the rest of his body. Newt was at his side, looking down with worried eyes. “He shot me.” It just came out, a new number one on the list of the dumbest things he’d ever said. The pain, like living metal staples running through his insides, pricking and scratching with their little sharp points. He felt his mind going dark for the second time that day.

As much as I cared about him, I wasn’t a slave to fate. I could choose to ignore my feelings, strong as they were. It would be painful, but no more so than letting myself pine for my friend.

As much as it hurts, I would rather miss someone than hit someone.

Astrid felt a towering wave of disgust. She was furious with Sam. Furious with Little Pete. Mad at the whole world around her. Sickened by everyone and everything. And mostly, she admitted, sick of herself. So desperately sick of being Astrid the Genius. “Some genius,” she muttered. The town council, headed by that blond girl, what was her name? Oh right: Astrid. Astrid the Genius. Head of the town council that had let half the town burn to the ground. Down in the basement of town hall Dahra Baidoo handed out scarce ibuprofen and expired Tylenol to kids with burns, like that would pretty much fix anything, as they waited for Lana to go one by one, healing with her touch. Astrid could hear the cries of pain. There were several floors between her and the makeshift hospital. Not enough floors. Edilio staggered in. He was barely recognizable. He was black with soot, dirty, dusty, with ragged scratches and scrapes and clothing hanging in shreds. “I think we got it,” he said, and lay straight down on the floor. Astrid knelt by his head. “You have it contained?” But Edilio was beyond answering. He was unconscious. Done in. Howard appeared next, in only slightly better shape. Some time during the night and morning he’d lost his smirk. He glanced at Edilio, nodded like it made perfect sense, and sank heavily into a chair. “I don’t know what you pay that boy, but it’s not enough,” Howard said, jerking his chin at Edilio. “He doesn’t do it for pay,” Astrid said. “Yeah, well, he’s the reason the whole town didn’t burn. Him and Dekka and Orc and Jack. And Ellen, it was her idea.

A thin, polished woman walks in. She sticks out immediately in her expensive looking navy dress, shiny bag and shoes that probably cost more than I make in a month. My breath leaves me when I see that her arm is draped around a younger version of herself. That hair, it's pulled back way too tight now, but I'd run my hands through it a thousand times before. That face, now in layer of makeup that makes her look older than I remember, I'd held it in my calloused hands and kissed those lips goodbye over a year ago. She said she'd never see me again and I learned to accept that. She destroyed me, and I'd moved on. No. Not her. She's not from here anymore. I don't know who that person is anymore.

A trickle of blood slid down his arm. He felt nothing. He only saw it. Because nothing hurt like missing her. He suspected nothing ever would

At the risk of hurting your feelings, I think you should know that some kisses are more special than others.

Bad things are always gonna happen in life. People will hurt you. But you can't use that as an excuse to hurt someone back.

A wave of hurt broke over Francie and left her weak when it was passed. Another wave came, broke and receded. She found her way down to the cellar of her house and sat in the darkest corner on a heap of burlap sacks and waited while the hurt waves swept over her. As each wave spent itself and a new one gathered, she trembled. Tensely she sat there waiting for them to stop. If they didn't stop, she'd have to die--she'd have to die.

...baby, it's never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows how poor that person is, it doesn't hurt you. So don't let Mrs Dubose get you down. She had enough troubles or her own.

Because everything worth having hurts.

Be careful how close you get to someone... It just ends up hurting more than not having no one to love to begin with.

Be careful of broken people. Their sharp edges may cut you.

Be careful when your feelings are too strong, when you love someone too much. A heart too full is like a bomb. One day it will explode.

Because I love you. And I hurt you. I hurt the person I love most in the world, and i will never forgive myself.

Because Jeremiah liked to hurt like he liked to breathe—it was an inevitable part of existence.

Be careful what you say for you can never take back the poison you threw

Because I love him so much and it hurts

Because somehow, the sun rises each day. Emerging from the horizon, brighter and more beautiful than the previous day. You'll rise from the horizon too, learning to trust again. Learning to love again. Learning to heal. You'll emerge so bright that the haters will be blinded. And darling, you'll be the sun then, bright and beautiful, but they won't be your sunflowers.

Because she knew already that this would be the thing that would end them. And that in the deepest part of her, she had known it from the beginning, like someone stubbornly ignoring a weed growing until it blocked out the light.

Because—truth?—on the scale of significance, that stuff doesn’t even register. What has me pushed past the boiling point...what has me really, really upset is learning the woman I thought was so incredibly strong I married her on the spot...is actually a quitter who runs from challenge, a coward too afraid to even try, a liar who makes promises she won’t keep and a cynic too bitter to believe what’s right in front of her face. Is that real enough for you?

Because she was a blank mural and you wrote all over her.

before you grow you will break and sometimes this is the best kind of heartache

Being deemed a fool, even if it is done by a fool, does not hurt, unless you are a fool.

Behind this smile in my face Lies the dark shadow of emptiness Hiding from your eyes within my gaze Concealed with sham happiness.

Being alone is more painful than getting hurt.

Being in love with your best friend is problematic.

Being rejected by someone you knew you never stood a chance with is like pouring salt on a wound that already has salt in it. It preserves the hurt.

BE REAL Bring it on- And let truth be my existence. Value my life- And tell me like it is. Bark at me when I'm wrong- And hug me when I'm right. Praise me if I succeed- And tell me if I fail. Laugh at me if you think I'm funny- And wink at me if you think I'm cute. Yell at me if I ever hurt you- And scold me if I'm ever bad. Keep things real with me, Because I want to be alive, I want my world to be real- And I want to see your spirit. I want to hear you breathe- And I want to know how you feel. Don’t waste my time with insincerities. Keep my world real.

Believing or not your mother is the only one who believes in you, don’t get hurt by something spoken, but only you know what you are and what you will become.

Beware the honest, ... they will hurt you just to feel clean.

Betrayal is too kind a word to describe a situation in which a father says he loves his daughter but claims he must teach her about the horrors of the world in order to make her a stronger person; a situation in which he watches or participates in rituals that make her feel like she is going to die. She experiences pain that is so intense that she cannot think; her head spins so fast she can't remember who she is or how she got there. All she knows is pain. All she feels is desperation. She tries to cry out for help, but soon learns that no one will listen. No matter how loud she cries, she can't stop or change what is happening. No matter what she does, the pain will not stop. Her father orders her to be tortured and tells her it is for her own good. He tells her that she needs the discipline, or that she has asked for it by her misbehavior. Betrayal is too simple a word to describe the overwhelming pain, the overwhelming loneliness and isolation this child experiences. As if the abuse during the rituals were not enough, this child experiences similar abuse at home on a daily basis. When she tries to talk about her pain, she is told that she must be crazy. "Nothing bad has happened to you;' her family tells her Each day she begins to feel more and more like she doesn't know what is real. She stops trusting her own feelings because no one else acknowledges them or hears her agony. Soon the pain becomes too great. She learns not to feel at all. This strong, lonely, desperate child learns to give up the senses that make all people feel alive. She begins to feel dead. She wishes she were dead. For her there is no way out. She soon learns there is no hope. As she grows older she gets stronger. She learns to do what she is told with the utmost compliance. She forgets everything she has ever wanted. The pain still lurks, but it's easier to pretend it's not there than to acknowledge the horrors she has buried in the deepest parts of her mind. Her relationships are overwhelmed by the power of her emotions. She reaches out for help, but never seems to find what she is looking for The pain gets worse. The loneliness sets in. When the feelings return, she is overcome with panic, pain, and desperation. She is convinced she is going to die. Yet, when she looks around her she sees nothing that should make her feel so bad. Deep inside she knows something is very, very wrong, but she doesn't remember anything. She thinks, "Maybe I am crazy.

Beyond the limit of pain, it is longer painful.

Beth’s voice broke. “I can’t lose you guys.” And there it was. She sat here bleeding because she loved me and Isaiah. For the millionth time, I wished the system was a person. One person I could name, know and hold responsible for screwing every single one of us. Right now, Beth’s mom’s new boyfriend would have to do.

But darling, I wish that I could tell you all about it. tell you about the battles that I’ve fought alone, the darkness that has swallowed all of me, the moments I had to pretend that I was strong and unbreakable while my heart was aching inside, and I wish I could tell you how many times I’ve been left so empty because I was such a fool to pour all of my heart into another human. Would you stay here with me and listen without having to leave..?

Brianna! Is Sam okay?” Astrid cried. “No. Drake tore him up.” She wanted to sound tough, but the sobs came bubbling up and overtook her. “Oh, God, Astrid, he’s hurt so bad.” Astrid gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. Brianna put her arms around Astrid and sobbed into her hair. “Is he going to die?” Astrid asked, voice wobbly. “No, I don’t think so,” Brianna said. She stood back and wiped her tears. “I gave him something for the pain. But he’s messed up, Astrid.

Brute force will sometimes get you through a challenge, but usually not without hurting and depleting yourself in the process.

... but I could also write about love. How a hand can silence thousands of voices and how someone’s smell can make you feel at home even though you’re a million miles away from home and have you ever hurt someone you love? Because you’re angry. Because you’re disappointed and sad and you just really wanted to love and be loved in return but life got in the way and you both said things that should never be said and you’re angry but don’t know how to. Because you still feel this strange love for him, but you’re also fucking angry and you want to hit him, but then hug him because hurting him is hurting yourself, and then hit him again because you’re angry! and so you fall on your knees because you’re hopeless to yourself and your own emotions and that’s love, my friend.