Best 873 quotes in «misery quotes» category

The whole world is indeed trapped by misery. What is the misery about? Due to ignorance of one’s own Real Self (agnanta). Due to ignorance of one’s own Real Self (agnanta), attachment-abhorrence (raag-dwesh) keeps on occuring, which leads to this misery. Only through Gnan [Knowledge of the Real Self] can one prevail in a misery-free state. There is no other solution at all.

The world is full of grief and no peace but every body has a different way of ending it.

They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery.

They don’t know I only speak in runaway train stations and everybody is always a few minutes too late to the platform. No one has ever gotten the chance to get too close because it is never romantic to fuck the girl who makes love to her own sadness every single night.

This Gnan (Knowledge) of ‘ours’ is this world’s summary of what deeds begets happiness and what deeds brings unhappiness.

This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. For as there are billions of different stars that make up the sky so, too, are there billions of different humans that make up the Earth. Some shine brighter but all are made of the same cosmic dust. O the joy of being in life with all these people! I speak of differences because they are there. Like the different organs that make up our bodies. Earth, itself, is one large body. Listen to how it howls when one human is in misery. When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in its chest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette. Look carefully, these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth’s face lovelier and more loveable. These oceans are the Earth’s limpid eyes. These trees, its hair. This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. I will no longer speak of differences, for the similarities are larger. Look even closer. There may be distances between our limbs but there are no spaces between our hearts. We long to be one. We long to be in nature and to run wild with its wildlife. Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful. Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegious to be serious. Let us celebrate imperfections and make existence proud of us, for tomorrow is death, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

This is misery, Sara,” he repeats. “But it is the sweetest misery I have ever felt. I don’t want it to stop.

This was misery that could not yield, for he sorrowed for a time he could not return to, and a self he would never again be.

This worldly life will stick only if one likes it; it is not likely to stick otherwise.

This worldly life is an ocean of unhappiness. It is just beyond comprehension how people have found happiness in it. Just as a drunken man sticks his hand in the gutter and says, "This feels very cool to me, it's very cooling;" similarly people are just believing that there is happiness in it!

Those of us who have the luck to enjoy good health forget about this vast parallel universe of the unwell-their daily miseries, their banal ordeals. Only when you cross that frontier into the world of ill-health do you recognize its quiet, massive presence, its brooding permanence.

Those were the three words seldom asked to her. Yet, she knew they hold a healing power in them; For they bring a million thoughts to the mind and more to the soul; For the answer is far deeper than what is simply said on the face. She understood, so she asked him what was seldom asked to her, "How are you?

Thus God's work and His eyes are in the depths, but man's only in the height.

To believe happiness-misery in circumstances is artadhyan (mournful contemplation that hurts the self). One becomes unhappy when he loses what he likes and one becomes happy when he comes across what he likes; that is all considered as artadhyan (mournful contemplation that hurts the self).

Tiny is saying, "If you can't trust your gut then what can you trust?" And I say, "You can trust that caring, as a rule, ends poorly," which is true. Caring doesn't sometimes lead to misery. It always does.

To open door to hatred is to open one’s spirit to misery

To Operate In Misery Is To Disregard The Original Intention Of God

To know misery is to know its opposite, happiness. One cannot exist without the other.

...very lonely and, often, very unhappy, with the poignant misery that comes to lonely people who long to be social and cannot, somehow, step naturally and unselfconsciously into some friendly group

Und als ich Sie schreien hörte, da wusste ich, dass Sie überleben würden. Sterbende schreien selten. Sie haben nicht die Energie dazu. Das weiß ich.

Un hombre valiente podía pensar. Un cobarde, no.

Understand this first and foremost that you are the center of your existence; nobody else is responsible. No matter how burdensome it feels, but you alone are responsible. If you accept this truth all sorrow will soon disappear. Because once it is clear that I am making this game, how long will it take you to destroy it?

Unpopular, lonely and loving, Elinor need not trouble, For if she were not so loving, She would not be so miserable.

Wake up from death, return to life.

Waking up breaks my heart. Getting dressed breaks my arms. Joining the crowd breaks my legs. Letting someone in...does me in.

War, misery, and death spared no soul, and took pity on no family.

wars are fought so that peace can be achieved talk about irony

Wealth is important in life just as food is important for sustenance of the body. Yet excessive accumulation of wealth, like excessive consumption of food, only leads to misery.

We both know that I will not come. We both know that he won't be in Canada. There will be another earthquake, another flood, another war, another reason to not go where we think we are going. It is a strange life, this. Chasing human misery around the planet. We are not the sort of people who go where we say we are going.

We are in misery because we are creatures of self - the self that is unyielding and narrow, that reflects no light, that is blind to the infinite. Our self is loud with its own discordant clamour - it is not the tuned harp whose chords vibrate with the music of the eternal. Sighs of discontent and weariness of failure, idle regrets for the past and anxieties for the future are troubling our shallow hearts because we have not found our souls, and the self-revealing spirit has not been manifest within us. Hence our cry.

We are sometimes dragged into a pit of unhappiness by someone else’s opinion that we do not look happy.

What came first _ the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music?

Well, aren't you just saying it's better to be neurotic, sensitive, and miserable than unimaginative, adjusted and content? Is it really better?

We see her go through dangerous mood-swings, but I tried never to come right out and say "Annie was depressed and possibly suicidal that day" or "Annie seemed particularly happy that day."If I have to tell you, I lose. If, on the other hand, I can show you a silent, dirty-haired woman who compulsively gobbles cake and candy, then have you draw the conclusion that Annie is in the depressive part of a manic-depressive cycle, I win.

West couldn't simply leave the man like this, he didn't have it in him. "Goodman Heath," he said as he approached, and the peasant looked up at him, surprised. He fumbled for his hat and made to rise, muttering apologies. "No, please, don't get up." West sat down on the bench. He stared at his feet, unable to look the man in the eye. There was an awkward silence. "I have a friend who sits on the Commission for Land and Agriculture. There might be something he can do for you…" He trailed off, embarrassed, squinting up the corridor. The farmer gave a sad smile. "I'd be right grateful for anything you could do." "Yes, yes, of course, I'll do what I can." It would do no good whatsoever, and they both knew it. West grimaced and bit his lip. "You'd better take this," and he pressed his purse into the peasant's limp, calloused fingers. Heath looked at him, mouth slightly open. West gave a quick, awkward smile then got to his feet. He was very keen to be off. "Sir!" called Goodman Heath after him, but West was already hurrying down the corridor, and he didn't look back.

What are the miseries in this world, due to? They exist because one’s “vision” is not “clear”.

What do you think all of us are here for? Certainly not to seek happiness. We are not here to enjoy. We are here to feel. Experiencing emotions is what human minds are made for. Emotions of every kind. A full gamut. A life spent on experiencing sentiments that lie at only one side of the spectrum is no life at all. We shouldn’t avoid grief. Instead, we should welcome despair in our lives with open arms. For it makes us who we are. It makes us complete.

What is considered moksha of the Vitraags [the enlightened ones]? It is where despite having a physical body, pain does not touch him, hence even worldly happiness does not affect him. The natural happiness keeps arising from within.

What is nature like? It does not allow any living being to do what it wants even to the slightest extent. But the one through whom no-one is hurt even to the slightest extent, be it through mind, speech or conduct, nature gives such a person all the authority to do what they want.

What is there in our nature that is for ever urging us on towards pain and misery?

What is the definition of ‘remaining untouched in the worldly life’? It means that one finds pleasure upon seeing something nice, but he is not to stuck there; he should move on. Then a cactus will appeal to him and a rose will appeal to him. But the world gets stuck there. Getting stuck itself is the pain!

What rent do you pay here?" I inquired. "I don’t know,—what is it, Sam?" "All we make," answered Sam. It is a depressing place,—bare, unshaded, with no charm of past association, only a memory of forced human toil,—now, then, and before the war. They are not happy, these black men whom we meet throughout this region. There is little of the joyous abandon and playfulness which we are wont to associate with the plantation Negro.

When a fine old carpet is eaten by mice, the colors and patterns of what's left behind do not change,' wrote my neighbor and friend, the poet Jane Hirschfield, after she visited an old friend suffering from Alzheimer's disease in a nursing home. And so it was with my father. His mind did not melt evenly into undistinguishable lumps, like a dissolving sand castle. It was ravaged selectively, like Tintern Abbey, the Cistercian monastery in northern Wales suppressed in 1531 by King Henry VIII in his split with the Church of Rome. Tintern was turned over to a nobleman, its stained-glass windows smashed, its roof tiles taken up and relaid in village houses. Holy artifacts were sold to passing tourists. Religious statues turned up in nearby gardens. At least one interior wall was dismantled to build a pigsty. I've seen photographs of the remains that inspired Wordsworth: a Gothic skeleton, soaring and roofless, in a green hilly landscape. Grass grows in the transept. The vanished roof lets in light. The delicate stone tracery of its slim, arched quatrefoil windows opens onto green pastures where black-and-white cows graze. Its shape is beautiful, formal, and mysterious. After he developed dementia, my father was no longer useful to anybody. But in the shelter of his broken walls, my mother learned to balance her checkbook, and my heart melted and opened. Never would I wish upon my father the misery of his final years. But he was sacred in his ruin, and I took from it the shards that still sustain me.

Whenever there is an uprising of misery, discrimination and sectarianism - whenever there is an upheaval in human dignity, goodness, unity and uniformity - whenever the primitive urge for judgement overwhelms the humane quality of understanding - whenever the light of truth begins to scare the people more than the darkness of ignorance, and whenever humankind begins to forget its innate humanity, I shall rise from the deepest fathoms of the neuronal galaxy in one brain or another, over and over again, to take humanity with me in the path of sweet, innocent, self-aware, non-conflicting and progressive harmony.

When Annie's treatin, you best be eatin.

Whenever you’ll open your eyes, you will find nothing but ugliness and misery all around you. Everything looks fine when you are in an unconscious state. This is the reason why you find it difficult to conceive: CONSCIOUSNESS IS THE BEING. You say, ”Impossible!” That’s why one needs to go through pain. That is called tapascharya, spiritual practice. Whenever one begins to become aware, first he will have to go through suffering. For lives you have created misery around you, who else would pass through it if not you? That is what we have called the karma.

When he came home early, he was dreary. There, he'd sit by the fireplace, his worn hands gripping the newspaper a bit too tight, his eyes held to it, unseeing, towards the words, the meaningless grouping of letters on that newspaper. The fire would cackle, sizzle, full of life, so opposite to this man, whose face was crossed with the burdens of the world, and lips pressed thing under that bushy mustache. His grief sat on him like a cloud, sending him into a dimension that left his eyes two empty coals, his chest an impossible storm. He spoke to no one, and hardly did anyone speak to him, because words were never something he was good at. Then, when the sky darkened, he's stand, and trudge to his room, where his bed waited, cold and hungry, just as he'd always known it to be.

When it becomes above normal, the happiness derived from pudgal (non-Self) feels like misery.

When I left, they were stuck with the burden of finding someone else to blame for their life... Pointing their anger everywhere, but never looking in the mirror... Continuing the cycle that led to their misery.

When it becomes above normal, material happiness will feel like misery.