Hurt Quotes - Page 24

We can all of us be hurt, and no one is exclusively safe from worry and sadness.

One day you fall for this boy. And he touches you with his fingers. And he burns holes in your skin with his mouth. And it hurts when you look at him. And it hurts when you don’t. And it feels like someone’s cut you open with a jagged piece of glass.

I've hurt you. I've loved you. I've mowed the front yard.

A lot of people are burning' C.D.'s. There are a lot of people burnin' peoples stuff, and that hurts a lot of rappers.

I want to live in a world where people care about others, and try not to hurt others with words or actions.

My mother says that when Mrs. Rowley is mean, which is generally the case, it is really because she is just unhappy, and who could blame her with a husband like that . . . She says this is really the only reason people are ever mean--they have something hurting inside of them, a claw of unhappiness scratching at their hearts, and it hurts them so much that sometimes they have to push it right out of their mouths to scratch someone else, just to give themselves a rest, a moment of relief.

I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I want to be done, to be left unburdened and naked, to tear the hurt off my body like layers of clothes. At the end of the trail I stop and bend forward, hands on my knees, to catch my breath. I’m not healed, but for this moment, I’m better.

When we fall on the ground it hurts us, but we also need to rely on the ground to get back up.

Hurt is a part of life. To be honest, I think hurt is a part of happiness, that our definition of happiness has gotten very narrow lately, very nervous, a little afraid of this brawling, fabulous, unpredictable world.

Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best?

Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it's so hurtful to think about writing.

The humble Cumulus humilis - never hurt a soul.

She lifted her head. "It's easier," she said, slowly, "to be angry on someone else's behalf than on my own. And yet I find I have a well of anger in me, that I have been filling for years from my own hurts. If I spill it out in defense of another, I can deny it's mine.

I can look back and recognize the things I've done and said that were wrong: unethical, gratuitously hurtful, golden-rule-breaking, et cetera. Sometimes the wrongness was even clear at the time, though not as clear as it is now. But I did these things because I felt the pull of a trajectory, a sense of experience piling up the way it does as you turn the pages of a novel. I would be lying if I said I was a different person now. I am the same person. I would do it all again.

Far too many people opened their hearts and lives at the drop of a hat. Why give someone that power over you? Why endow them with the ability to hurt you that much? Let someone in and you were asking for an emotional kicking some day.

I'm not a gangster, I'm not a thug.. I'm just me and if I feel like someone is trying to hurt me.. yeah I'm gonna hurt 'em.. if you come and you ain't coming right I'm gonna blow your head off.

Before the decathlon I'm constantly trying to convince myself that I want to do this, that I want to take myself to that place where it's going to hurt and things are going to be tough. But that's like anything - you want to give your best.

Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone? Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own? Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep. Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps. Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand. Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man. Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain. Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again. Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be. Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?

When the guy says go, you start to suffer - or you might as well not be out there. It's a small piece of your life, make it hurt.

In order to be effective truth must penetrate like an arrow - and that is likely to hurt.

I must learn to love the fool in me the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.

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.

Every single progressive education fad of the past thirty years has hurt poor black children.

It is possible to move through the drama of our lives without believing so earnestly in the character that we play. That we take ourselves so seriously, that we are so absurdly important in our own minds, is a problem for us. We feel justified in being annoyed with everything. We feel justified in denigrating ourselves or in feeling that we are more clever than other people. Self-importance hurts us, limiting us to the narrow world of our likes and dislikes. We end up bored to death with ourselves and our world. We end up never satisfied.

But the problem with looking back when you should be walking ahead is that you usually end up walking into something that hurts.