Quotes
Quotes about Pain
I am convinced that we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in the real misfortunes and pains of others.
No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains
To tax our labours and excise our brains.
There is a pleasure in poetic pains
Which only poets know.
The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground:
'T was therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pain grows sharp and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.
To those who know thee not, no words can paint!
And those who know thee, know all words are faint!
The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley;
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain
That has been, and may be again.
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain
And Fear and Bloodshed,--miserable train!--
Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
Lightly from fair to fair he flew,
And loved to plead, lament, and sue;
Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain,
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
O woman! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!
Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in the vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Oh, when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?
Wearers of rings and chains!
Pray do not take the pains
To set me right.
In vain my faults ye quote;
I write as others wrote
On Sunium's hight.
Oh stay! oh stay!
Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain
To break its links so soon.
To sigh, yet feel no pain;
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by.
When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires:
This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,--
Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.
Cervantes smil'd Spain's chivalry away.
With hue like that when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,--
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind
Along the reedy stream; a half-heard strain,
Full of sweet desolation--balmy pain.
There's a hope for every woe,
And a balm for every pain,
But the first joys of our heart
Come never back again!
Wherever literature consoles sorrow or assuages pain; wherever it brings gladness to eyes which fail with wakefulness and tears, and ache for the dark house and the long sleep,--there is exhibited in its noblest form the immortal influence of Athens.
