To labour is the lot of man below; And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
For 30 years, I lived in pure hell.
I've lived too long with pain. I won't know who I am without it
Life is a long agonized illness only curable by death.
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.
All the Hennessy and weed can't hide, the pain i feel inside, its like I'm living just to die.
Pain is a more terrible lord of mankind than even death itself.
The wretched hasten to hear of their own miseries.
It's very painful for us to feel we deserve a life. That's the toughest thing. That we deserve to have a life. That can take a lifetime.
What a blessed if painful thing, this business of being alive.
I do believe that reality is dreadful and that you are forced to choose it in the end or go crazy, but that it kills you.
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.
There's only one thing that's certainAnd that's everybody, everybody's hurting
I'm as cruel as life. As cruel as love.
Life is a business that does not cover the costs.
life itself is not the miracle. that pain should be so constant, that's the miracle -
Oh death, death, why do you never come to me thus summoned always day by day?
Did no one tell him that pain lives in this sand, dug in and watered with our blood?
If you have a pulse, you're going to have pain.
Man is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another.
But it is not that easy, is it? I seek a lasting relationship, something permanent in a world of change, in which all is transitory, ephemeral, and full of pain.
It's one thing to be discouraged. It's another thing to have despair. Despair is when you think there's just no end to this [suffering]. There's no solution for this. Despair is when you think that your suffering has no purpose, and your suffering has no end.
A still-born son os superior to a foolish son endowed with a long life. The first causes grief for but a moment while the latter like a blazing fire consumes his parents in grief for life.
Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of the earth is multiform.
The life of men is painful.
