I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit in but you can't. You hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside.
The Way It Is There’s a thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn’t change. People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread. But it is hard for others to see. While you hold it you can’t get lost. Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old. Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding. You don’t ever let go of the thread. ~ William Stafford ~
I hadn't fully realized just how powerful words could be before this. Whoever came up with the saying 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me' was talking out of his or her armpit.
I think that hurting gives us a way to measure being happy. How can you know one without knowing the other.
I wonder if it's possible to start a new relationship without hurting someone else.
So you’ll just kill anyone who frightens you. Who could hurt you.” “Well…yes.
So the fact that I’m me and no one else is one of my greatest assets. Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.
Well, any love makes us vulnerable. Whatever we love will give the gift of pain somewhere along the road. But who would live sealed in spiritual cellophane just to keep from ever being hurt? There are a few people like that. I'm sorry for them. I think they are as good as dead.
I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.
Am I horny enough to hump a bedpost?" Mica asked. "Not quite yet. Should I consult with you first, Doctor?" Sarcasm lay thick and heavy in her voice. "I believe a consult would be a good idea." Ely nodded with mocking solemnity as Mica lifted herself onto the gurney. "You never know what you may end up hurting if the act isn't done properly.
And maybe that was love. Being so vulnerable and allowing someone else in so far they could hurt you, but they also give you everything.
Well . . . he lets it ruin his life. He gets so obsessed with going after the one thing that hurt him that he loses sight of everything else. He becomes isolated from everyone and everything. Paranoid. He feels like he can't trust anyone around him ever. In the end, he loses everything, even his life. And for what? Total stupidity, if you ask me.
The only people who think the Internet is a calamity are people whose lives have been hurt by it; the only people who insist the Internet is wonderful are those who need it to give their life meaning.
You can't hurt someone who doesn't care about you.
I write because I am alone and move through the world alone. No one will know what has passed through me... I write because there are stories that people have forgotten to tell, because I am a woman trying to stand up in my life... I write out of hurt and how to make hurt okay; how to make myself strong and come home, and it may be the only real home I'll ever have.
Because they're probably long gone. Are you hurt?" Gabe asked with enough urgency that she realized he must have felt shiver in delayed reaction to the hole in the door. "No. No, I'm okay. What a about you? Are you hurt?" "Only if you count the fact that you damned near ripped off my plumbing groping around for my phone." She made a sound of exasperation. "Now? You pick now to become a comedian?" "It's all about timing," he whispered back.
...Any fool can love somebody who's perfect, somebody who does everything right. But that doesn't stretch your soul. Your soul only gets stretched when you can still love somebody after they've hurt you.
She regarded books as the emblems of secret brotherhood. A man with this sort of library couldn't possibly hurt her.
She flew into his arms. Held on tight as he swung her off her feet and hugged her so hard it hurt. She didn't care. She didn't want him to ever let go.
I remember things like that...A lifetimes accredidation of unkindness, all of those little longering hurts that I carried around like stones sewn into my pockets.
Goodbys always make my throat hurt... I need more hellos.
I am a lover of what is, not because I'm a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality.
THE CORRECTION, when it finally came, was not an overnight bursting of a bubble but a much more gentle letdown, a year-long leakage of value from key financial markets, a contraction too gradual to generate headlines and too predictable to seriously hurt anybody but fools and the working poor.
This is how you communicate with a fellow intelligence: You hurt it, you keep on hurting it, until you can distinguish the speech from the screams.
That which hurts, also instructs.
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