#pain

A painting in a museum hears more ridiculous opinions than anything else in the world. ↗

— Edmond de Goncourt

#else #hears #more #museum #opinions

If London is a watercolor, New York is an oil painting. ↗

— Peter Shaffer

#new #new york #oil #painting #watercolor

Silent is the ruined land. Man is brutal and the rain does not wash away the pain or rid the distant memory. It makes it glisten. ↗

— Cecil Castellucci

#life #pain #world #life

But it turns out Joy is a house built from the same bricks as Sorrow. Pleasure is a poem, and it uses the same words as Pain. ↗

— Julio-Alexi Genao

#grief #joy #loss #pain #pleasure

For really it was the refinement of civilized cruelty, this spick, span, and ingenious affair of shining leather and gleaming steel, which hoisted you and tilted you and fitted reassuringly into the small of your back and cupped your head tenderly between padded cushions. It ensured for you a more complete muscular relaxation than any armchair that you could buy for your own home: but it left your tormented nerves without even the solace of a counter-irritant. In the old days the victim's attention had at least been distracted by an ache in the back, a crick in the neck, pins and needles in the legs, and the uneasy tickling of plush under the palm. But now, too efficiently suspended between heaven and earth, you were at liberty to concentrate on hell. ↗

— Jan Struther

#pain #teeth #home

Humor was a good way to hide the pain. ↗

— Rick Riordan

#pain #humor

It's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it. ↗

— Steven Wright

#paint #world #humor

I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#infidelity #love #pain #relationships #imagination

To reach the farthest chamber of Lascaux, it's likely a man had to snuff out his light, lower himself down a shaft with a rope made of twisted fibers, and then rekindle his lamp in the dark so as to draw the woolly rhinoceros, the half horse, and the raging bison there. A long spear transfixes that bison, and entrails pour from its side. Beneath its front hooves lies the one painted man in all of Lascaux: prone, spindly wounded, disguised behind a bird mask. And below him, until its discovery in 196o, lay a spoon-shaped lamp carved of red sandstone ... Hold it again as it once was held, and the animals will emerge out of darkness as you pass. Nothing stays still. Shadows nestle in the cavities; a flicker of light across pale protruding rock turns a hoof or raises a head. One shape recedes as another emerges, and everything lingers in the imagination. ↗

— Jane Brox

#light #imagination

Sorrow is humbling. I want my pain to be fabulous. I don't need my pain to be worse than anyone else's; I just want it to be strangely, uniquely mine. Art to someone else's breakdown. — Thea Hillman, "Dear Kath After" from the anthology Pills, Thrills, Chills, and Heartache ↗

— Clint Catalyst

#humility #michelle-tea #pain #sorrow #thea-hillman