All humor is rooted in pain.
Be the silent watcher of your thoughts and behavior. You are beneath the thinker. You are the stillness beneath the mental noise. You are the love and joy beneath the pain.
Pain throws your heart to the ground Love turns the whole thing around Fear is a friend who's misunderstood But I know the heart of life is good
This is the pain pacemaker. I've got a battery under my skin. From that battery are two electrodes that go into the spine where they cut bone away to accommodate it. Now I put on the power here. If I have the pain, the stimulator starts. It's tingling, like when your foot falls asleep, you know?
I had to make different kinds of music for everybody but still keep it classic T-Pain at the same time.
And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
Maybe freedom really is nothing left to lose. You had it once in childhood, when it was okay to climb a tree, to paint a crazy picture and wipe out on your bike, to get hurt. The spirit of risk gradually takes its leave. It follows the wild cries of joy and pain down the wind, through the hedgerow, growing ever fainter. What was that sound? A dog barking far off? That was our life calling to us, the one that was vigorous and undefended and curious.
Pleasure is sweetest when 'tis paid for by another's pain.
Pain is temporary. Eventually it will subside. If I quit, however, the surrender stays with me.
One who shows signs of mental aberration is, inevitably, perhaps, but cruelly, shut off from familiar, thoughtless intercourse, partly excommunicated; his isolation is unwittingly proclaimed to him on every countenance by curiosity, indifference, aversion, or pity, and in so far as he is human enough to need free and equal communication and feel the lack of it, he suffers pain and loss of a kind and degree which others can only faintly imagine, and for the most part ignore.
When you have no experience of pain, it is rather hard to experience joy.
But what if we took it one step further and made an effort to actually transform our pain into something beautiful? What if we went full out and made an effort to transform other people’s pain into something beautiful?
I am very astonished that the scientific picture of the real world around me is very deficient. It gives a lot of factual information, puts all our experiences in a magnificently consistent order, but is ghastly silent about all and sundry that is really near to our heart, that really matters to us. It cannot tell us a word about red and blue, bitter and sweet, physical pain and physical delight; it knows nothing of beautiful and ugly, good or bad, god and eternity.
Self-knowledge, I guess, is hard. But I think pain is harder, personally. I think to be hopeless is very hard. I think to die without hope or to live without hope is very hard.
Marvin trudged on down the corridor, still moaning. ". . . and then of course I've got this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left hand side. . . " "No?" said Arthur grimly as he walked along beside him. "Really?" "Oh yes," said Marvin, "I mean I've asked for them to be replaced but no one ever listens. " "I can imagine.
You go through so much with the heartache, the pain, the nonsense, the games, and it's easy to lose sight of the possibility of love.
Sometimes a little discomfort in the beginning can save a whole lot of pain down the road.
I am not saying that I am different, but I don't have emotional pain. I may be angry and I may be peaceful, but no emotional pain.
People talk about the pain of grief, but I don't know what they mean. To me, grief is a devastating numbness, every sensation dulled.
Loneliness was tough, the toughest role you ever played. Hollywood created a superstar, and pain was the price you paid.