Best 5825 quotes in «hurt quotes» category

Don’t ask why people keep hurting you. Ask yourself why are you allowing it to happen.

Don’t break my heart. Crush it. Destroy it. Let me wallow it until I feel hollow in it. I’ll bash in the pain. I’ll scream your name and then one day I suddenly won’t.

Don't even try making out I’m making this up. I’ve got proof. Evidence.

Don’t ever forget you are beautiful, although your life, your past and your present situation may be ugly. You are beautiful.

Don't go for a man's throat when he hasn't hurt you.

Don’t hold on because you think there will be no one else. There will always be someone else. You’ve got to believe you are worth more than being repeatedly hurt by someone who doesn’t really care. Believe that someone will see what you are really worth and treat you the way you should be treated.

Don't let anyone or anything to dull your sparkle.

Don’t live your life with anger and hate in your heart as you will only be hurting yourself more than the people you hate.

Don’t want no more rock,” Orc repeated. The bleeding stopped almost immediately. “Does it hurt?” Lana asked. “I mean the rock. I know the hole hurts.” “No. It don’t hurt.” Orc slammed his fist against his opposite arm, hard enough that any human arm would have been shattered. “I barely feel it. Even Drake’s whip, when we was fighting, I barely felt it.” Suddenly he was weeping. Tears rolled from human eyes onto cheeks of flesh and pebbles. “I don’t feel nothing except…” He pointed a thick stone finger at the flesh of his face. “Yeah,” Lana said. Her irritation was gone. Her burden was smaller, maybe, than Orc’s.

Don't win someone you're willing to lose

Dotakne ti neko srce, posle je sve nebitno. Jedna osoba ga promeni i srce ostaje takvo. Obelezeno do kraja svih emocija.

Do we not see the influence we have when we say we believe in one thing, but our children see us living something else? Do we not realize how little we encourage our children to actually decide what they believe, declare what they believe, and then live by it? Whether it’s religion, politics, sports, or societal norms. It is not our place to tell our kids what to think. It is our place to teach our kids to think correctly. If we do this, we need have no fear of what they will decide for themselves and how strongly they’ll stand behind it. A man will follow his own convictions to his death, but he’ll only follow another man’s convictions until he steps in manure.

Down the road of hate, at every busted corner lurks the need for love.

Do you ever feel as if everything surrounding you is in slow motion, moving through tar? There you are - and there's the world. You're outside staring in the window, observing reality happen, but you don't exist in it. You just watch, and watch. That's how I feel, like the dead butterfly staring back at you through the glass.

Do you know something about the broken people? They are exactly like a mirror that is been punched and dropped on the floor into pieces and been joined back together. When you stand in front of them they create hundreds of your reflections, but still none of them complete and the moment you try to touch them they will try to hurt you, not because they don't like your reflection in them, it is just because they are afraid of falling again and breaking into more pieces. If you could only see how it feels to be that broken mirror you would never do something that would break a mirror again.

Drake's whip hand spun Diana like a top. She cried out. That sound, her cry, pierced Caine like an arrow. Diana staggered and almost righted herself, but Drake was too quick, too ready. His second strike yanked her through the air. She flew and then fell. “Catch her!” Caine was yelling to himself. Seeing her arc as she fell. Seeing where she would hit. His hands came up, he could use his power, he could catch her, save her. But too slow. Diana fell. Her head smashed against a jutting point of rock. She made a sound like a dropped pumpkin. Caine froze. The fuel rod, forgotten, fell from the air with a shattering crash. It fell within ten feet of the mine shaft opening. It landed atop a boulder shaped like the prow of a ship. It bent, cracked, rolled off the boulder, and crashed heavily in the dirt. Drake ran straight at Caine, his whip snapping. But Jack stumbled in between them, yelling, “The uranium! The uranium!” The radiation meter in his pocket was counting clicks so fast, it became a scream. Drake piled into Jack, and the two of them went tumbling. Caine stood, staring in horror at Diana. Diana did not move. Did not move. No snarky remark. No smart-ass joke. “No!” Caine cried. “No!” Drake was up, disentangling himself with an angry curse from Jack. “Diana,” Caine sobbed. Drake didn’t rely on his whip hand now, too far away to use it before Caine could take him down. He raised his gun. The barrel shot flame and slugs, BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Inaccurate, but on full automatic, Drake had time. He swung the gun to his right and the bullets swooped toward where Caine stood like he was made of stone. Then the muzzle flash disappeared in an explosion of green-white light that turned night into day. The shaft of light missed its target. But it was close enough that the muzzle of Drake’s gun wilted and drooped and the rocks behind Drake cracked from the blast of heat. Drake dropped the gun. And now it was Drake’s turn to stare in stark amazement. “You!” Sam wobbled atop the rise. Quinn caught him as he staggered. Now Caine snapped back to the present, seeing his brother, seeing the killing light. “No,” Caine said. “No, Sam: He’s mine.” He raised a hand, and Sam went flying backward along with Quinn. “The fuel rod!” Jack was yelling, over and over. “It’s going to kill us all. Oh, God, we may already be dead!” Drake rushed at Caine. His eyes were wide with fear. Knowing he wouldn’t make it. Knowing he was not fast enough. Caine raised his hand, and the fuel rod seemed to jump off the ground. A javelin. A spear. He held it poised. Pointed straight at Drake. Caine reached with his other hand, extending the telekinetic power to hold Drake immobilized. Drake held up his human hand, a placating gesture. “Caine…you don’t want to…not over some girl. She was a witch, she was…” Drake, unable to run, a human target. The fuel rod aimed at him like a Spartan’s spear. Caine threw the fuel rod. Tons of steel and lead and uranium. Straight at Drake.

Do you think you can wait - because I don't want you to stop loving me. I keep remembering us and how it was. I don't want to hurt you...not ever...

Dream hurts; yet we never stop dreaming; just like the way love hurts but we still love to love

Drowning in silence; for in silence I shall never be disappointed …

Embrace all. Help some. Trust few. Harm none.

Each day we kill a compulsive love with our impulsive actions.

Each Fable is inspired by some true stories which doesn't have an happy ending, unlike the Fable.

Eliza: The problem with YOU is that you don't take the RESPONSIBILITY for anything@ You think you can just run around, doing whatever you want to whoever you want, and that it's going to be fine. That everything is just going to be TAKE CARE of for you, with no consequences. Cooper: No. I don't, and I have had consequences from what happened with me and you. Eliza: Yeah? Like what? Cooper: I lost you, that was my consequence.

Even in the running away from hurting, there is hurting. In opening unprotected to the experience that is enslaving you with its torment, there is the willingness to be free. Are you willing? Or do yo just want to wait until the world finally gets it and does it your way?

Even if my wings broken, even if i couldn't fly anymore, I would rather to stay here, with you, with all your wounded stories, that slowly began to hurt me.

Even the strongest hearts can be fragile. It takes only seconds to hurt someone. But sometimes it takes years to repair the damage. Cherish the hearts that love you.

Enough tiny sharp jabs can cut as deeply as any knife.

Escapaba a su comprensión el que un ser, independiente del parentesco que pudiera tener con otro, así no más, con la mano en la cintura rechazara de una manera tan brutal una atención.

Even the very best people found ways to hurt the ones they loved.

Even though your words hurt the most, I still want to hear them everyday.

Even when someone hurts you, you choose how to struggle, resist, deny and receive.

Everybody hurts, sometimes.

Everybody feel pain except a woman who kicks a man in the balls.

Everybody, he mused had everything worked out. Except me

Every loss is unprecedented. You can't ever know someone else's hurt, not really...

Every exceptional bias against Christianity I find to be evidence for its validity.

Every damaged soul deserves the chance to love again.

Every decision, every single one, comes with a price to pay. It means you chose one thing over another, always. Whether you chose right or wrong, that cost remains constant. It's a permanent life tax. That's where taxes come from.

Every hurt buried deep in the mind has an uncanny ability to surface and make its presence felt when I am feeling low, hugging me like a long lost friend

Everyone gets broken. Everyone. Some grow stronger in those breaks. Others never recover.

Everyone breathing is broken. Keep breathing light into them until the stained glass collage takes your breath away.

Everyone leaves me worst than when they found me

Everyone is their own, though they are so alone. They all sit on their imagined thrones, made only of their own bones. Ego and pride make exquisite delusional cushions.

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.

Fake love, is just as damaging as open hate.

Everything hurts until you become good at hurting everything around too.

Everything hurts. He can barely lie still. He feels caught. He wants to run, but where? He feels certain he will always remain like this - trapped within his own body, his own mind. The emotional pain is so strong, it becomes physical. He feels it knotting and twisting inside him, ready to crush him, suffocate him. He is losing his grip, he is losing his mind. He thought he had it all back under control, but suddenly nothing makes sense any more. Does anyone else know what it's like to be stuck somewhere between dead and alive? I't s a half-world of incoherent pain where emotions you put on ice start slowly thawing again. A place where everything hurts, where your mind is no longer strong enough to force your feelings back into hibernation.

Everything hurts right now and nothing is helping because as the pain is getting worse — so is the love.

Everything I know, everything I put in my fiction, will hurt someone somewhere as surely as it will comfort and enlighten someone else. What then is my responsibility? What am I to restrain? What am I to fear and alter--my own nakedness or the grief of the reader? I want my stories to be so good they are unforgettable; to make my ideas live and my own terrors real for people I will never meet. It is a completely amoral writer's lust. If we begin to agree that some ideas are too dangerous, too bad to invite inside our heads, then we stop the storyteller completely. We silence everyone who would tell us something that might be painful in our vulnerable moments.

Expectations hurt, be it sorry, be it thank you.