World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.
Real pain can alone cure us of imaginary ills. We feel a thousand miseries till we are lucky enought to feel misery.
The mind is seldom quickened to very vigorous operations but by pain, or the dread of pain. We do not disturb ourselves with the detection of fallacies which do us no harm.
As an enemy is made more fierce by our flight, so Pain grows proud to see us knuckle under it. She will surrender upon much better terms to those who make head against her.
You purchase pain with all that joy can give, and die of nothing but a rage to live.
The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace, the smoke of hell - that monster called Pain.
Nothing begins, and nothing ends, that is not paid with moan; for we are born in other's pain, and perish in our own.