What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul.
It hurts to love. It's like giving yourself to be flayed and knowing that at any moment the other person may just walk off with your skin.
Mr. Solomon was right the worst kind of torture is watching someone you love get hurt.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
I am the wound and the knife! I am the slap and the cheek! I am the limbs and the rack, And the victim and the executioner! I am the vampire of my own heart.
If I wished to punish my enemy, I should make him hate somebody.
I'm a liar. I'll rip your mind up. I'll burn your soul, I'll turn you in to me.
Mortifications are often more painful than real calamities.
Strange though it is,Sarov still cares about you. He told me to leave you alone. But I think, this time, I must disobey the general. You are mine! And I intend to make you suffer..." "Just talking to you makes me suffer," Alex said.
Is it any wonder, since, when near the fire, I was melted and burned, if now that it's extinguished outside me, it besets and consumes me inside, and bit by bit reduces me to ashes?
You men have none of you any hearts.' 'If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give us torment enough.
What misery to live in this world! We are like men whose enemies are at the door, who must not lay aside their arms, even while sleeping or eating, and are always in dread lest the foe should enter the fortress by some breach in the walls. O my Lord and my all! How canst thou wish us to prize such a wretched existence?
I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.
Music breaks my heart constantly.
This affliction--hope--is so cruel and stubborn, I believe it will kill me
Hope is the most sensitive part of a poor wretch's soul; whoever raises it only to torment him is behaving like the executioners in Hell who, they say, incessantly renew old wounds and concentrate their attention on that area of it that is already lacerated.
So that is what hell is. I would never have believed it. You remember: the fire and brimstone, the torture. Ah! the farce. There is no need for torture: Hell is other people.
Garden of Pain, I need you. What were the songs of beasts to the cries of sentient souls?
Fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.
Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings
Anger would inflict punishment on another; meanwhile, it tortures itself.
Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.
But how to explain suffering because of a man? It's not explainable. With that kind of suffering, a person feels as if they're in hell, because there is no nobility, no greatness - only misery.
