Ask any athlete: We all hurt at times. I'm asking my body to go through seven different tasks. To ask it not to ache would be too much.
Any day above ground is a good one. A woman's beauty is her inherent ability to better a man in every way. My father, now in heaven, is the watcher of birds. And his eye is on his sparrow. God, in his great silence, is still there. Of that I haven't a single doubt. Music is the balm that heals the ache of a forlorn star.
I was struggling man. I had a stomach ache. I was throwing up, I was just feeling bad. I couldn't sleep.
And if I remain in the dark about our purpose here, and the meaning of eternity, I have nevertheless arrived at an understanding of a few more modest truths: Most of us fear death. Most of us yearn to comprehend how we got here, and why-- which is to say, most of us ache to know the love of our creator. And we will no doubt feel that ache, most of us, for as long as we happen to be alive.
It was traumatic but exhilarating to feel what my father felt. I remember the ache of the separation from the people I loved. I would never go back to that time. Yet the things I learned benefited my life.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?
Fill all thy bones with aches.
Music is the balm that heals the forlorn ache of a distant star.
The moon, our own, earthly moon is bitterly lonely, because it is alone in the sky, always alone, and there is no one to turn to, no one to turn to it. All it can do is ache across the weightless airy ice, across thousands of versts, toward those who are equally lonely on earth, and listen to the endless howling of dogs. (“A Story About The Most Important Thing”)
To be honest with you, I don't have the words to make you feel better, but I do have the arms to give you a hug, ears to listen to whatever you want to talk about, and I have a heart; a heart that's aching to see you smile again.
The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you.
Prosperity is like perfume, it often makes the head ache.
Rhubarb: essence of stomach ache.
Instead of asking ourselves, 'How can I find security and happiness?' we could ask ourselves, 'Can I touch the center of my pain? Can I sit with suffering, both yours and mine, without trying to make it go away? Can I stay present to the ache of loss or disgrace-disapp ointment in all its many forms-and let it open me?' This is the trick.
He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.
The years came and went, the children came and left. The worst of getting old is not tiredness and aches and pains, but that time rushes on so quickly, that in the end it doesn't seem to exist. It's Christmas and then it's Easter. It's a clear winter's day and then a hot summer's day. In between it's a vacuum.
The morning brought with it, if not a brighter outlook, at least a measure of control, some acceptance. Instinctively, I knew that the new tear in my heart would always ache. That was just going to be a part of me now.
Treat yourself like a fat person with aches and pains and a suitcase full of excuses, and good luck-you'll stay exactly where you are. Train like an athlete and, though you may not look like one now, you will become one.
My heart aches completely, every hour, every day, and only when I'm with you does the pain go away.
My purpose, my whole life, had been to love him and be with him, to make him happy. I didn’t want to cause any unhappiness now—in that way, I decided it was probably better than he wasn’t here to see this, though I missed him so much at that moment the ache of it was as bad as the strange pains in my belly.
You ache with it all; and the more mysterious it is, the more you ache.
MY REGRETS ARE ABOUT THE PEOPLE I COULDN’T SAVE—Marines, soldiers, my buddies. I still feel their loss. I still ache for my failure to protect them.
Hearts are united when they ache and break together.
You wake up and you feel - what? Heaviness, an ache inside, a weight, yes. A soft crumpling of the flesh. A feeling like all the surfaces inside you have been rubbed raw. A voice in your head - no, not voices, not like hearing voices, nothing that crazy, just your own inner voice, the one that says 'Turn left at the corner' or 'Don't forget to stop at the post office,' only now it's saying, 'I hate myself.' It's saying, 'I want to die.'
Women, aren't they perfect? It doesn't matter if they're fat, skinny, blond, or blue. If a woman is willing to give you her love, Harvard, it's the greatest gift in the world. Makes you taller, makes you smarter, makes your teeth shine. Boy-oh-boy women are perfect, perfect joy and perfect ache. Joy when you first meet them and get to know them. Ache when you leave them. Joy. Ache. Joy. Ache. Joyachejoyachejoyachejoyache.
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