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Agony Quotes

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Agony Quotes

“It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.”

BookStoriesWisdomHumorFunnyPainSufferingQuotesLiteratureUnderstandingGriefEducationConsciousnessFictionKnowledgeNovelLearningToo MuchSadnessAwarenessIgnoranceHumourBooksSorrowDespairPerceptionHeartbreakJokesHumorousCapacityAccountsMiseryEntertainmentAppreciationIgnorantCommandEducatedRealizationNarrativeAccomplishmentHeartacheTortureAuthorWriterEnlightenedSatireStoryWritersUnhappinessCapabilityMasteryNonfictionAcceptableAphorismEntertainingAgonyDistressQuotationsJokeTormentEssaysHilariousEscapeUnbearableDiscomfortAuthorsUnderstandKnowExpertiseScholarshipComprehensionAphorismsSchoolingEscapismApprehensionCognitionKnowledgeableIlliterateDesolationEssaySkillUneducatedTolerableWretchednessManageableWell EducatedScholarlyAphoristAphoristsOverpoweringInsufferableUninformedEruditeUnendurableEruditionProficiencyLearnedNarrativesComprehendAccountEntertainGraspSustainableUnacceptableWell ReadInexperiencedCultivatedCulturedIntolerableWell InformedCognizanceUnschooledUnsophisticatedEndurableInsupportableUnworldlyMan Of LettersUnknowledgeableUnreadUntrainedVia DolorosaAdeptnessAdmissibleBe Acquainted WithBe Conversant WithBe Familiar WithBe Up To Speed OnBe Versed InBenightedBrookableExpertnessHave A Grasp OfHave Knowledge OfHave LearnedHave MasteredHave MemorizedKnowledgableMen Of LettersSufferableSupportableUnenlightenedUnlearnedUnletteredUnmanageableUntaughtUntutoredWoman Of LettersWomen Of Letters
Author:Mokokoma Mokhonoana
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“With each drop of tear that we shed in our times of excruciating pain, our brain constructs majestic new cellular connections to aid in the pursuit of our passion - in the pursuit of truth.”

InspirationalSelfInspirationTruthPainSuccessLife LessonsMotivationImaginationMotivational QuotesInspiringHumilitySelf LoveAchievementPerceptionCriticismSelf AwarenessMiserySuccess QuotesHumbleIntuitionSelf RealizationSelf RespectPearls Of WisdomInspiring QuotesMotivational InspirationalWise QuotationsAgonySuccess In LifeInner VoicePain QuotesGoals In LifeImagination QuotesGoals QuotesPursuit Of KnowledgeSelf Awareness QuotesPursuit Of TruthPursuit Of PassionGoal AchievementCriticism QuotesHumility QuotesAchievement And AttitudeIntuition QuotesPursuit Of DreamsPursuit Of PerfectionAchieve Your DreamsPursuit Of GoalsSelf Respect QuotesPerception Of LifeArrogance And AttitudePerception Of SelfMisery QuotesVoice Of WisdomMiseriesAgony Quotes
Book:Love, God & Neurons: Memoir of a scientist who found himself by getting lost
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“Like alcohol and poverty, a heartbreak has the power to make a man do something he wouldn’t normally do and to make a woman do someone she wouldn’t normally do.”

HumorFunnyPainHappinessMotivationSufferingSexWealthPoorMoneyPovertyRichSadnessHumourRegretSorrowSadDepressionWineSorryQuote Of The DayAlcoholHappyUnhappyBeerSatireUnhappinessWealthyAphorismAgonyRepentRemorseAlcoholismLiquorAphorismsDepressedBoozeAlcoholics AnonymousSpiritsQuoteofthedayAlcoholicSexual IntercourseWine TastingDepressIntoxicantIntoxicants
Author:Mokokoma Mokhonoana
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“Anna Petrovna: Kolya, my dearest, stay at home. Ivanov: My love, my unhappy darling, I beg you, don't stop me going out in the evenings. It's cruel and unjust on my part, but let me commit that injustice. It's an agony for me at home. As soon as the sun disappears, my spirit begins to be weighed down by depression. What depression! Don't ask why. I myself don't know. I swear by God's truth I don't know. Here I'm in anguish, I go to the Lebedevs and there it's still worse; I return from there and here it's depression again, and so all night... Simply despair!”

DespairDepressionAgony
Book:Ivanov
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“It is the interplay between the brilliance of our joy and the abyss of our suffering that defines us. We are creatures of light born from the womb of darkness, forever navigating the dichotomy of exaltation and despair. This oscillation—this profound dance between the zeniths of happiness and the nadirs of sorrow—carves the depth of our souls, teaching us that within the crucible of our trials lies the alchemy of our greatest triumphs. Herein lies the paradox of our existence: that it is through the very act of confronting our agony, we discover the boundless realms of our bliss.”

JoySufferingExistenceDespairBlissParadoxAgonySchizophreniaDichotomyAkathisia
Book:Sex, Drugs, and Schizophrenia
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“It ended by my almost believing (perhaps actually believing) that this was perhaps my normal condition. But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured in that struggle! I did not believe it was the same with other people, and all my life I hid this fact about myself as a secret. I was ashamed (even now, perhaps, I am ashamed): I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment in returning home to my corner on some disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last—into positive real enjoyment! Yes, into enjoyment, into enjoyment! I insist upon that. I have spoken of this because I keep wanting to know for a fact whether other people feel such enjoyment? I will explain; the enjoyment was just from the too intense consciousness of one’s own degradation; it was from feeling oneself that one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but that it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for you; that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into. And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all in accord with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute consciousness, and with the inertia that was the direct result of those laws, and that consequently one was not only unable to change but could do absolutely nothing. Thus it would follow, as the result of acute consciousness, that one is not to blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise that he actually is a scoundrel.”

StruggleDespairDepressionShameAgonyActionsHopelessnessFatalismInevitabilities
Book:Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead
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“When reading the history of the Jewish people, of their flight from slavery to death, of their exchange of tyrants, I must confess that my sympathies are all aroused in their behalf. They were cheated, deceived and abused. Their god was quick-tempered unreasonable, cruel, revengeful and dishonest. He was always promising but never performed. He wasted time in ceremony and childish detail, and in the exaggeration of what he had done. It is impossible for me to conceive of a character more utterly detestable than that of the Hebrew god. He had solemnly promised the Jews that he would take them from Egypt to a land flowing with milk and honey. He had led them to believe that in a little while their troubles would be over, and that they would soon in the land of Canaan, surrounded by their wives and little ones, forget the stripes and tears of Egypt. After promising the poor wanderers again and again that he would lead them in safety to the promised land of joy and plenty, this God, forgetting every promise, said to the wretches in his power:—'Your carcasses shall fall in this wilderness and your children shall wander until your carcasses be wasted.' This curse was the conclusion of the whole matter. Into this dust of death and night faded all the promises of God. Into this rottenness of wandering despair fell all the dreams of liberty and home. Millions of corpses were left to rot in the desert, and each one certified to the dishonesty of Jehovah. I cannot believe these things. They are so cruel and heartless, that my blood is chilled and my sense of justice shocked. A book that is equally abhorrent to my head and heart, cannot be accepted as a revelation from God. When we think of the poor Jews, destroyed, murdered, bitten by serpents, visited by plagues, decimated by famine, butchered by each, other, swallowed by the earth, frightened, cursed, starved, deceived, robbed and outraged, how thankful we should be that we are not the chosen people of God. No wonder that they longed for the slavery of Egypt, and remembered with sorrow the unhappy day when they exchanged masters. Compared with Jehovah, Pharaoh was a benefactor, and the tyranny of Egypt was freedom to those who suffered the liberty of God. While reading the Pentateuch, I am filled with indignation, pity and horror. Nothing can be sadder than the history of the starved and frightened wretches who wandered over the desolate crags and sands of wilderness and desert, the prey of famine, sword, and plague. Ignorant and superstitious to the last degree, governed by falsehood, plundered by hypocrisy, they were the sport of priests, and the food of fear. God was their greatest enemy, and death their only friend. It is impossible to conceive of a more thoroughly despicable, hateful, and arrogant being, than the Jewish god. He is without a redeeming feature. In the mythology of the world he has no parallel. He, only, is never touched by agony and tears. He delights only in blood and pain. Human affections are naught to him. He cares neither for love nor music, beauty nor joy. A false friend, an unjust judge, a braggart, hypocrite, and tyrant, sincere in hatred, jealous, vain, and revengeful, false in promise, honest in curse, suspicious, ignorant, and changeable, infamous and hideous:—such is the God of the Pentateuch.”

LoveBookGodHomePainDeathJoyReligionReadingBeliefFearJusticeFreedomLibertyBeautyMusicChristianityEnemyHistoryImpossibleDreamsBloodTearsSorrowPromiseHorrorSadDespairBibleMurderSafetySlaveryAffectionDelightMythMythologyTyrannyIgnorantPityCrueltyDustWanderVainCurseHypocrisyShockPriestsSympathyTyrantsArrogantFalsehoodAgonyFriendJudaismThankfulPreyDeceivedCorpsesHatefulDishonestyMosesFamineHideousUnreasonableHeartlessRevelationSuperstitiousIndignationJehovahSportJewishDespicablePlunderJewsInfamousPromised LandYahwehThe BibleAbhorrentExodusExchangePharaohWastedRevengefulGovernParallelRobbedSerpentsPentateuchPlaguesStarvedBenefactor
Book:Some Mistakes of Moses
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“Oppenheimer, haunted by his leading role in the first use of atomic weapons, understood only one aspect of prudence. His longing not to do evil himself blinded him to the need to ward off the evil of others. This painfully knotted man hoped with one swipe of his moral sword to rid himself of the impossible tangle and to be clear and simple for once in his life. But being Oppenheimer could never be as easy as that. For Oppenheimer embodied two of the highest human types, the theoretical man described by Aristotle as god-like for living in the mind, among changeless truths, and the paragon of Machiavellian virtue, god-like in commanding the power of life and death over other men. No theoretical man before Oppenheimer had known such lordly power. In certain high moments he approached that Aristotelian theoretical purity which lives for the joys of knowing the world, whatever it might prove to be; in another light he thrilled at that Machiavellian power and its attendant renown; in contrary moods he reviled himself for the suffering he brought into the world, and ached to renounce his distinction and to be merely another man among men. Perhaps no theoretical man can be equal to such a burden: to feel knowledge as power when one’s mind reshapes the world irrevocably, to see the light of truth as the agent of some dark majesty, is not grace but ordeal. Oppenheimer’s agony tore him open from top to bottom.”

EvilPowerBurdenComplicatedAgonyPrudenceMoral DilemmaAtomic WeaponsOppenheimerWorld ChangingAristotelian Theoretical PurityMachiavellian Virtue
Author:Algis Valiunas
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“I have been doomed to be a girl who must pass her earthly existence in a male body. How dreadful it is to a young woman to have a slight growth of hair on lip or cheeks ! Only one mark of the male ! How much more dreadful for a young woman to possess almost all the male anatomy as I do ! How I have bewailed my fate!”

SadnessAgonyTransgenderTransAnatomyGender DysphoriaDysphoriaTrans WomenTransfemininity
Book:Autobiography of an Androgyne
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“From the reed flute streams a melody.... cut from the agony of deeps.... for carved are the holes... and thus emerges the flute from a reed........ as the ache that enters your deeps... turns your heart to the sweetest flute... and you become a vessel for a music that fills this earth... every longing is played by the reed flute into the breeze.... as agony cut you in pieces.. .there flew your achiest of aches.... but now the reed flute has you smiling playing the sweetest melody on your lips.... for they come not through the flute... but from your soul. of the deeps... as in agony you turn to the note of ecstasy .... for though your heart is torn asunder... yet altered are they in the reed notes.... as the flute lets the notes play with the winds....”

LoveInspirationalSoulPlaySongEcstasyAgonyFlute
Author:Jayita Bhattacharjee
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“The company was now come to a halt and the first shots were fired and the grey riflesmoke rolled through the dust as the lancers breached their ranks. The kid's horse sank beneath him with a long pneumatic sigh. He had already fired his rifle and now he sat on the ground and fumbled with his shotpouch. A man near him sat with an arrow hanging out of his neck. He was bent slightly as if in prayer. The kid would have reached for the bloody hoop-iron point but then he saw that the man wore another arrow in his breast to the fletching and he was dead. Everywhere there were horses down and men scrambling and he saw a man who sat charging his rifle while blood ran from his ears and he saw men and he saw men with their revolvers disassembled trying to fit the fit the spare loaded cylinders they carried and he saw men kneeling who tilted and clasped their shadows on the ground and he saw men lanced and caught up by the hair and scalped standing and he saw the horses of war trample down the fallen and a little whitefaced pony with one clouded eye leaned out of the murk and snapped at him like a dog and was gone. Among the wounded some seemed dumb and without understanding and some were pale through the masks of dust and some had fouled themselves or tottered brokenly onto the spears of the savages. Now driving in a wild frieze of headlong horses with eyes walled and teeth cropped and naked riders with clusters of arrows clenched in their jaws and their shields winking in the dust and up the far side of the ruined ranks in a pipping of boneflutes and dropping down off the side of their mounts with one heel hung in the the withers strap and their short bows flexing beneath the outstretched necks of the ponies until they had circled the company and cut their ranks in two and then rising up again like funhouse figures, some with nightmare faces painted on their breasts, ridding down the unhorsed Saxons and spearing and clubbing them and leaping from their mounts with knives and running about on the ground with a peculiar bandylegged like creatures driven to alien forms of locomotion and stripping the clothes from the dead and seizing them up by the hair and passing their blades about the skulls of the living and the dead alike and snatching aloft the bloody wigs and hacking and chopping at the naked bodies, ripping off limbs, heads, gutting the strange white torsos and holding up great handfuls of viscera, genitals, some of the savages so slathered up with gore they might have rolled in it like dogs and some who fell upon the dying and sodomized them with loud cries to their fellows. And now the horses of the dead came pounding out of the smoke and dust and circled with flapping leather and wild manes and eyes whited with fear like the eyes of the blind and some were feathered with arrows and some lanced through and stumbling and vomiting blood as they wheeled across the killing ground and clattered from sight again. Dust stanched the wet and naked heads of the scalped who with the fringe of hair beneath their wounds and tonsured to the bone now lay like maimed and naked monks in the bloodsoaked dust and everywhere the dying groaned and gibbered and horses lay screaming”

WarPhilosophyHumorDeathViolenceHuman NatureSatireAgonyNihilismSadism
Book:Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West
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