Hurt Quotes - Page 13

What other people believe shouldn't (be allowed to) hurt me.

The scribbles in my notebook are a reflection of you. Every line holds your name. Every paragraph a feature of yours I love. Each page is a memory of moments that took my breath away. Of times when I laughed more than my lungs would allow. My notebook is full, but I always knew only one would hardly contain all of you.

All the same, it strikes me as unfair that I still have to defend myself against her moral judgements. My continuing need for her approbation is pathetic. Twice now I have stopped myself on the street to remonstrate with her, a crazy old coot talking to himself.

....hurts like love, I guess. There's always room for more.

Why do you stay with me?" he whispered. He wished he hadn't said it once the words were out of of his mouth, wished he could pull them back, but Laurie didn't seem fazed at all. In fact, he just smiled a crooked smile and kissed him again. "Because I don't want to dance by myself," he whispered.

..the feeling that you felt something weird..then you just shut your mouth for tears keep falling from your eyes..sharp knives tearing your heart in pieces and it leaves you wondering...are you enough?? was your love enough?? or still...whatever you do..you can never replace someone's first love..

Words, he knew, could scar.

I didn't make any mistake. I know that when he nearly asked me to marry him it was only on impulseIt is part if a follow-my-leader game of second-best we have all been playing - Rose with Simon, Simon with me, me with Stephen and Stephen, I suppose, with that detestable Leda Fox-Cotton. It isn't a very good game; the people you play it with are apt to get hurt.

But you should never jump unless you know you can fly, or at least float. Nobody wants to fall. That’s how you end up hurt.

Betrayal is too kind a word to describe a situation in which a father says he loves his daughter but claims he must teach her about the horrors of the world in order to make her a stronger person; a situation in which he watches or participates in rituals that make her feel like she is going to die. She experiences pain that is so intense that she cannot think; her head spins so fast she can't remember who she is or how she got there.All she knows is pain. All she feels is desperation. She tries to cry out for help, but soon learns that no one will listen. No matter how loud she cries, she can't stop or change what is happening. No matter what she does, the pain will not stop. Her father orders her to be tortured and tells her it is for her own good. He tells her that she needs the discipline, or that she has asked for it by her misbehavior. Betrayal is too simple a word to describe the overwhelming pain, the overwhelming loneliness and isolation this child experiences.As if the abuse during the rituals were not enough, this child experiences similar abuse at home on a daily basis. When she tries to talk about her pain, she is told that she must be crazy. "Nothing bad has happened to you;' her family tells her Each day she begins to feel more and more like she doesn't know what is real. She stops trusting her own feelings because no one else acknowledges them or hears her agony. Soon the pain becomes too great. She learns not to feel at all. This strong, lonely, desperate child learns to give up the senses that make all people feel alive. She begins to feel dead.She wishes she were dead. For her there is no way out. She soon learns there is no hope.As she grows older she gets stronger. She learns to do what she is told with the utmost compliance. She forgets everything she has ever wanted. The pain still lurks, but it's easier to pretend it's not there than to acknowledge the horrors she has buried in the deepest parts of her mind. Her relationships are overwhelmed by the power of her emotions. She reaches out for help, but never seems to find what she is looking for The pain gets worse. The loneliness sets in. When the feelings return, she is overcome with panic, pain, and desperation.She is convinced she is going to die. Yet, when she looks around her she sees nothing that should make her feel so bad. Deep inside she knows something is very, very wrong, but she doesn't remember anything. She thinks, "Maybe I am crazy.

I believe we were right for each other, but not in that moment, which perhaps hindered any possibility of a future.

With ravenous passion and reckless ambition he forged his thoughts into words, obsessed with the notion that dying would not be the last thing he would do.

Forgive means for get the hurt and give love.

And that was my homecoming. It was fine, I guess. Getting back feels like your first breath after nearly drowning. Even if it hurts, it's good.

When you've been hurt enough as a kid (maybe at any age), it's like you have a trick knee. Most of your life, you can function like an adult, but add in the right portions of sleeplessness and stress and grief, and the hurt, defeated self can bloom into place.

Astrid felt a towering wave of disgust. She was furious with Sam. Furious with Little Pete. Mad at the whole world around her. Sickened by everyone and everything.And mostly, she admitted, sick of herself.So desperately sick of being Astrid the Genius.“Some genius,” she muttered. The town council, headed by that blond girl, what was her name? Oh right: Astrid. Astrid the Genius. Head of the town council that had let half the town burn to the ground.Down in the basement of town hall Dahra Baidoo handed out scarce ibuprofen and expired Tylenol to kids with burns, like that would pretty much fix anything, as they waited for Lana to go one by one, healing with her touch.Astrid could hear the cries of pain. There were several floors between her and the makeshift hospital. Not enough floors.Edilio staggered in. He was barely recognizable. He was black with soot, dirty, dusty, with ragged scratches and scrapes and clothing hanging in shreds.“I think we got it,” he said, and lay straight down on the floor.Astrid knelt by his head. “You have it contained?”But Edilio was beyond answering. He was unconscious. Done in.Howard appeared next, in only slightly better shape. Some time during the night and morning he’d lost his smirk. He glanced at Edilio, nodded like it made perfect sense, and sank heavily into a chair.“I don’t know what you pay that boy, but it’s not enough,” Howard said, jerking his chin at Edilio.“He doesn’t do it for pay,” Astrid said.“Yeah, well, he’s the reason the whole town didn’t burn. Him and Dekka and Orc and Jack. And Ellen, it was her idea.

In time, he began to see the details that held us like invisible stitches together. The scars we held within, the tears despite our dry faces. He saw the little sigh that came with the song. The way our breathing became labored even though nothing seemed wrong. He peeked into the aimless gaze of daydreamers, reliving their worst moments, commending them on being so strong.

The very best and the very worst of life will come from [their] ability to love strangers.

There are many different forms of betrayal, but one hurts the most, Betraying Your Self.

There are two types of pain; one that hurt you, and one that changes who you are.

I was trying to spare her any further stress(...)I wasn’ttrying to be deceitful.

Never be afraid of doing whatever you like to do which gives you self contentment.But,Always ensure that no-one is getting hurt because of this act of yours!!!

Yes, I understand why things had to happen this way. I understand his reason for causing me pain. But mere understanding does not chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come! And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes!

Fantasies hurt. They hurt hard and deep. They lifted you up to places that you could never reach, then they let you down with a crash.

Some people are lucky to find love, others must settle with being liked...

Unknowingly, he prepared me to survive the rest of my days with the way he shielded himself from emotional vulnerabilities that slowly destroy the rest of us.

The mighty trojans fell, and so did i.A wooden horse you were not, yet in a pool of my own blood i lie.Dawn follows every dusk, and all that rises - fall it must.So, my blood shall find its way and trickle down your eyes.The day your deeds of today, eventually make you cry.

Rigor Mortis.” I say, almost as an apology. But he won’t have any of it. He locks onto my gaze. He doesn’t lean forward, but he doesn’t need to, suddenly the room feels like it’s filled with him. His presence floats in the air like a noxious gas, and I’m breathing it in. “Ike, you don’t get it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Do you think I have the right to talk to anyone? Do you think its fun to have a ‘human’ brain in a pet’s body? Sure, I have Kamu. And that’s fugging great, but guess what? Kamu is queen to be, and emotionally unstable.” I've never heard Rig talk this powerfully before, but he doesn’t seem scary, just sad. “And then I get someone else I can actually talk to, Ike, I get you. And you don’t treat me like I’m a pet and you talk about Kamu like she needs to be protected and you are there. You are there, and you keep being there, and the only one who’s ever there is Kamu, but now there is Ike. And Ike is perfect, albeit a bit dense, but perfect.” “Rig, I’m really sorry bu-“ I start, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. With each sentence Rig loses some of his force, he sounds more pathetic and lost. “I’m not done.” He pronounces the words in such a voice that it makes me shut up more than the context of the sentence does. “And all I want is to be with this boy who is there, this boy who is my friend, this boy who isn’t always caught up in politics. All I want is to have my one good break.” He finishes. I keep holding his eye contact, and his eyes, they already reflect hurt and rejectment. I don’t know if from me…or from life.

If you really want to do something,you will.If not now, Eventually.

Tthe thing is, Dr. Foster…the truth is, I like Marina.” He eyed the doctor. “And I actually don’t like you very much.”Oh, it was worth it. God, it was worth it. To see the perennially calm face turn pale, only slightly, but still pale; to see him blink away the hurt in his watery, pallid blue eyes.

When someone is hurt andwe hear ourselves saying"I don't understand, why"PAUSEAt the pause, ask "What am I missing here ?"At the pause, stop judging, stop reacting,get curious and believe their hurt stateAt the pause, tap into their heart and mind.Now see how this pause transforms the conversation.

The story of my birth that my mother told me went like this: "When you were coming out I wasn't ready yet and neither was the nurse. The nurse tried to push you back in, but I shit on the table and when you came out, you landed in my shit."If there ever was a way to sum things up, the story of my birth was it.

Chase.” He cleared his throat and shook his head once. “That girl means everything to me. Which means her baby does, too. I will never do to you what you did to Harper and me. But know this. If you do not take care of them, and cherish them . . . I will not hesitate again to beat the living shit out of you. You get me?”“I got you. I love them, I’ll always take care of them.

Of all the heartache I will ever know, only some of it will be real. The rest, I will create.

Most men judge your importance in their lives by how much you can hurt them, not by how happy you can make them.

People rarely ventured outside the realm of their own hurts. They believed their own suffering was obvious to all, but might as well have been wearing blinders for all that they noticed anyone else's.

I thought about how love was always the thing that did that - smashed into you, left you raw. The deeper you loved, the deeper it hurt.

You worry about hurting me, but you never seem to worry about me hurting you. And I’m the one with the killer touch.

And round and round and round. Why couldn't I get past the letter? Like poison id had seeped into every image and every memory I kept of Callum, polluting them until I couldn't tell which was real and what was just wishful thinking any more. Until at last, I was forced to face the inescapable fact that, for whatever reason, Callum had written the letter.

It wasn't that he didn't love me, because I knew he did. As for me, I loved him so much it hurt.

It is not a single crime when a child is photographed while sexually assaulted (raped.) It is a life time crime that should have life time punishments attached to it. If the surviving child is, more often than not, going to suffer for life for the crime(s) committed against them, shouldn't the pedophiles suffer just as long? If it often takes decades for survivors to come to terms with exactly how much damage was caused to them, why are there time limits for prosecution?

He put his forehead against hers. “Alannah, my heart is yours.” He said softly.“And yet, I must hand it over to someone else for the keeping.” Her last words falling to a strained whisper.

LOVE, is the most powerful thing that makes my world turn upside down.

Are you in love with him?’She kept her lips tightly closed as if holding something back.‘Are you in love with me?’She tried to answer but nothing came out. She lowered her eyes to the floor.

They stared at each other. Every ocean, every river, every minute they had walked together was in their gaze. He said nothing and she said nothing. She kneeled by him, her hands on him, on his chest, on his heart, on his lungs that took air in but could not move air out, on his open wound; her eyes were on him, and in their eyes was every block of uncounted, unaccounted-for time, every moment they had lived since June 22, 1941, the day war started for the Soviet Union. Her eyes were filled with everything she felt for him. Her eyes were true.

Treat me well and I will tell... Treat me bad and I feel sad. Treat me good, change my mood. Treat me sweet and call it quits!

I have fallen for someone who's so emotionally shut down, I will only get hurt.

We are the living whole of the fragments from the things we've experienced and people we've encountered. Each interaction changes us in a subtle or massive way. The masterpiece we are sheds it's weathered skin, becoming even more than it was before.

Take revenge, not by hurting someone, but by succeeding in life and helping those who were hurting you in the past.

The missing piece in his stomach hurt so much-and eventually he stopped thinking about the Theorem and wondered only how something that isn't there can hurt you.

I trade all my pains for peace of God.

When you truly love, you can never really get hurt.

Even in the running away from hurting, there is hurting. In opening unprotected to the experiencethat is enslaving you with its torment,there is the willingness to be free.Are you willing? Or do yo just want to wait until the world finally gets it and does it your way?

I thought that what I felt for you was right," Luce said. "I loved you until it hurt me, until our love was consumed by your pride and rage. The thing you called love made me disappear. So I had to stop loving." She Paused. "Our adoration never diminished the Throne, but your love diminished me. I never meant to hurt you. I only meant to stop you from hurting me.

As far as I can figure, the way that it works is this: everyone has something that happened to them. The thing that we each carry. And you can see it in people, if you look. See it in the way someone walks, in the way someone takes a compliment, sometimes you can just see it in someone’s eyes. In one moment of desperation, of fear, in one quick moment you can see that thing that happened. Everyone has it. The thing that keeps you up at night, or makes you not trust people, or stops love. The thing that hurts. And to stop it, to stop the hurt, you have to turn it into a story. And not just a story you play over and over for yourself, but a story that you tell. A story’s not a story unless you tell it. And once you tell it, it’s not yours anymore. You give it away. And once you give it away, it’s not something that hurts you anymore, it’s something that helps everyone who hears it. It’s the kind of thing that’s hard to explain. It’s probably best if we just show you how it works.

Love and violence always go hand in hand. You can only ever truly hurt those you love. You must love them first to hurt them, to damage them beyond any hope of recovery, and for your actions to burn and linger, they too must love you back.

All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes.

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

Love always hurts, Always. It’s what you do with it that makes it durable.

Nuts, arms, stomachs -- they never hurt. All hurt is brain hurt.