If there is any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.
21 Quotes Tagged: torment
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WHO AM I?
I have seven heavenly panels
Leading up to a pointed sphere
I’m multidimensional like a crystal
And my center is never clear.
I’m an inventor and pioneer.
A mentor to my peers.
But I'm not as sound as my shell reveals,
Because I’m tormented by my fears -
That may appear to be grounded
But my insides are filled with tears.
And the sadness is well-founded,
From years and years
Of traumatic experiences
Compounded
In the most demented
Atmospheres.
I talk but feel like nobody hears.
Has reason disappeared?
And, God, are you near?
This is Giza’s 7th light force
And I'm asking you to interfere.
I can no longer walk amongst the blind and dead
With open eyes and ears.
I’m trying to maintain my sanity
And to straighten up my veneer
As I roll amongst the growing calamities
Flowing on Earth’s severely trashed
Frontier.
Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)
"He uttered a curse that startled her with its foulness, and gripped her head between his hands, forcing her to stare at him. His voice was savage. "For twelve years I have been in constant torment, wanting you in my arms and believing it would never be possible. I want you for a thousand reasons other than your legs, and...no, damn it, I want you for no reason at all, other than the fact that you're you. I want to shove myself deep inside you and stay for hours...days...weeks. I want morning and noon and nightfall with you. I want your tears, your smiles, your kisses...the smell of your hair, the taste of your skin, the touch of your breath on my face. I want to see you in the final hour of my life...to lie in your arms as I take my last breath.
After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn't bring and never has brought happiness. On the contrary, it's a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it's sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we're doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony.
it has to be emphasized that if the pain were readily describable most of the countless sufferers from this ancient affliction would have been able to confidently depict for their friends and loved ones (even their physicians) some of the actual dimensions of their torment, and perhaps elicit a comprehension that has been generally lacking; such incomprehension has usually been due not to a failure of sympathy but to the basic inability of healthy people to imagine a form of torment so alien to everyday experience.
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