Quotes about Anguish

Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall.

The sin we need to be concerned about is the sin in our own lives. It's the root of all human woe, the source of anguish.

Jesus, who comes across in the Gospels as extraordinarily strong, begged in the garden, with drops of sweat like blood running down his face, that he might be spared the terrible cup ahead of him, the betrayal and abandonment by his friends, death on the cross. Because Jesus cried out in anguish, we may too. But our fear is less frequent and infinitely less if we are close to the Creator. Jesus, having cried out, then let his fear go, and moved on.

The breaking of the harmony was pain, was brutal anguish, but the harmony kept rising above the pain, and the joy would pulse with light, and light and dark once more knew each other, and were part of the joy.

And the more I drink the more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I try to find sympathy and feeling in drink.... I drink so that I may suffer twice as much!

neglected.Locke.2. Reformation of life. Our Lord and Saviour was of opinion, that they which would not be drawn to amendment of life, by the testimony which Moses and the prophets have given, concerning the miseries that follow sinners after death, were not likely to be persuaded by other means, although God from the dead should have raised them up preachers.Hooker,b. v. ¶ 22. Behold! famine and plague, tribulation and anguish, are sent as scourges for amendment.Bible2 Esdras,xvi. 19.

The torture of a bad conscience is the hell of a living soul.

To me, the human experience does involve a great deal of anguish. It's joyful, but it's bittersweet. I just think that's life.

Ah, mon cher, for anyone who is alone, without God and without a master, the weight of days is dreadful.

I offered up a special prayer, a prayer which came with tears and anguish, that some way would open up for me to use what talents I possessed for my fellow workers, for the poor.

The torturer scores a victory over his victim when the latter, in the grip of doubt, begins to torture himself.

It was a destructive novel of acquired ideas. To finally wake up in a state of creative anguish, to lose oneself in order to find oneself again, to sleep in the arms of a beautiful student whose name one didn't know, to fall back to sleep over a love poem-that was called existence. The harmonics of artistic creation, of fertile sensibility, of anticipated events-history in movement-that was called a privilege.