Self Inflicted Pain Quotes

Quotes tagged as "self-inflicted-pain" (showing 1-8 of 8)
Anthon St. Maarten
“We have created a manic world nauseous with the pursuit of material wealth. Many also bear their cross of imagined deprivation, while their fellow human beings remain paralyzed by real poverty. We drown in the thick sweetness of our sensual excess, and our shameless opulence, while our discontent souls suffocate in the arid wasteland of spiritual deprivation.”
Anthon St. Maarten

Crystal Woods
“Of all the heartache I will ever know, only some of it will be real. The rest, I will create.”
Crystal Woods, Write like no one is reading 2

Valerie Martin
“Self-inflicted pain has a calming effect; it clears the head, diminishes one's fascination with the ego, and most important, gives one the sense of having taken some real action against the everyday foolishness of the body and of the vagrant, willful, heedless imagination.”
Valerie Martin, A Recent Martyr

Craig D. Lounsbrough
“I decry the injustice of my wounds, only to look down and see that I am holding a smoking gun in one hand and a fistful of ammunition in the other.”
Craig D. Lounsbrough

Bryant McGill
“We also self-inflict violence, because violence is our only way of relating to the world, to others and to ourselves.”
Bryant McGill, Voice of Reason

“Some people think life is all about suffering, and suffering means living life. So many people live their lives accepting suffering as a way of life and they end up living their lives in perpetual self-inflicted pain without seeing a need to awake to take steps to their latent joy! If you are not feeling happy, wake up! There is a reason to be happy and there is a reason for action. There is something solemn, noble and distinctive that can make you happy! Awake! It is never the wish of God that His creation lives in indentured servitude! Pray!”
Ernest Agyemang Yeboah, Religion, Philosophy and life

Adam Berlin
“I turn the water all the way hot, turn my back to the water, and I take it. I close my eyes and I'm on the hundredth floor with the jet-fuel fire at my back and the drop below. I take it and take it until I can't take it, until the heat takes over everything, and I jump, plummeting to the street
I'm out of the shower.
I turn my back to the mirror and look at the too-red skin behind my shoulder blades. The wind blows north and the smoke is here. Then the wind shifts and you can't smell a thing. Then the wind shifts again. Now you smell it, now you don't.”
Adam Berlin, The Number of Missing

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