When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, 'Why god? Why me?' and the thundering voice of God answered, 'There's just something about you that pisses me off.'
It’s the order of things: each one gets a taste of honey then the knife.
The bitter dregs of Fortune's cup to drain.
To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable.
Toil is the lot of all, and bitter woe The fate of many.
I will see this game of life out to its bitter end.
What is the destiny of man, but to fill up the measure of his sufferings, and to drink his allotted cup of bitterness?
World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.
When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream.
Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,' said Denethor. 'Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, foreboding that worse lay in the dregs?
Not the swart Pariah in some Indian grove, Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's hate, Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love: He bears a load which nothing can remove, A killing, withering weight.
