Loss of Feeling Quotes

My capacity to feel fear has worn out, as if it's a muscle that can do no more.

The state should, I think, be called 'anesthesia.' This signifies insensibility.

I thought I was dead inside.

My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, my toes to numb to step, wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

But he could not taste, he could not feel. In the teashop among the tables and the chattering waiters the appalling fear came over him- he could not feel. He could reason; he could read, Dante for example, quite easily…he could add up his bill; his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then- that he could not feel.

I didn’t want to be prideful anymore. I wanted to be as hard as and brittle as the stones I carted into the woods. Stones that could not feel or cry or see. I wished not to feel anything at all. In no time, what I wished for, I became.

It feels weird to play songs that I don't really... feel any more.

My "heart". Does that pitiful organ still represent anything? It lies motionless in my chest, pumping no blood, serving no purpose, and yet my feelings still seem to originate inside its cold walls. My muted sadness, my vague longing, my rare flickers of joy. They pool in the center of my chest and seep out of there, diluted and faint, but real.

Depression is not sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling.

I grow numb; I grow stiff. How shall I break up this numbness which discredits my sympathetic heart?

The bees in my stomach are dead and getting used to it.

When you have heart disease, you start to be tired of everything. It's like getting older. You become more white, and after that, grey. You have no feeling for anything.

I was dead inside.

If you clean it up, get analytical, all the subtle joy and emotion you felt in the first place goes flying out the window.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing alive enough to have strength to die. (from "Neutral Tones")

Her laugh was sad and taciturn, seemingly detached from any feeling of the moment, like something she kept in the cupboard and took out only when she had to, using it with no feeling of ownership, as if the infrequency of her smiles had made her forget the normal way to use them.

I am a quiet man. I tend to think things through and try not to say too much. But here I am, saying perhaps too much. But there are these feelings inside me which need badly to escape, I guess. And this makes me feel relieved because one of my big concerns these past few years is that I've been losing my ability to feel things with the same intensity- the way I felt when I was younger. It's scary- to feel your emotions floating away and just not caring. I guess what's really scary is not caring about the loss.

They must take me for a fool, or even worse, a lunatic. And no wonder ,for I am so intensely conscious of my misfortune and my misery is so overwhelming that I am powerless to resist it and am being turned into stone, devoid of all knowledge or feeling.

Wariness had driven away poetry; from hesitating to feel came the moment when you no longer could.