Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Groaning. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Groaning Quotes And Sayings by 92 Authors including Victor Hugo,Edwin Markham,Cheryl Strayed,George Orwell,Jonathan Safran Foer for you to enjoy and share.
At the hour of civilization through which we are now passing, and which is still so sombre, the miserable's name is Man; he is agonizing in all climes, and he is groaning in all languages.
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, the emptiness of ages in his face, and on his back the burden of the world.
Suffering is what happens when truly horrible things happen to us.
the mute protest in your own bones
Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.
God is glorified, not by our groans, but by our thanksgivings.
Labor, but slight not meditation; meditate, but slight not labor.
theatrical groan of disappointment. Szacki
Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
My streets, my cistern. My old house. Its beams, floorboards and staircase creaked slightly, almost imperceptibly, with a dry, uniform, almost constant cracking sound. What's wrong? Where does it hurt? It seemed to be complaining of aches in its bones, in its centuries-old joints.
Not suffering, but faint heart, is worst of woes.
When words are too heavy for the mouth, the soul weeps in agony
Rivers of wrinkles flowing down from the corners of this eyes and mouth.
she is bent under the weight of her burden
The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib cage.
What annoyances are more painful than those of which we cannot complain?
SILENCE. The most loaded sound in human history.
The creak of bed springs suffering under the weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound as I know.
Wailing and lamentation befit those who stand before the throne of life and depart without leaving in its hands a drop of the sweat of their brows or the blood of their hearts.
Sometimes our arms are so full with the burdens we carry that it hinders our view of the load those around us are staggering beneath.
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.
The cadence of suffering has begun. Every evening at dusk, my heart constricts until night has come.
Watching me, judging me, smelling the crippling failure oozing from my skin, my desperation clawing and all-consuming panic drenching me as I gape in horror at the world and wonder why everyone is smiling and looking at me with secret knowledge of my aching shame.
So much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations of men
the left hand trembling in an eternal so-so.
Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.
I suffered all evening, all night, I'm partly suffering now as well.
It is my duty to voice the suffering of men, the never-ending sufferings heaped mountain-high.
They couldn't groan like that without their heads.
The misery of the moment.
vomiting the crying
Avoid being a 'groan' up.
In a sadly pleasing strain, let the warbling lute complain.
If you're suffering, you're thinking.
There's a lamentation in the flutter of your lash.
What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want? She didn't know. She yawned. She was sleepy. It was too much. Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.
The fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is suffering.
Watch waterfalls of pity roar, you feel to moan but unlike before, you discover that you'd just be one more person crying.
Wolgast leaned back in his chair and realized how exhausted he was. It always came upon him like this, like the sudden unclenching of a fist.
The burden of suffering seems a tombstone hung about our necks, while in reality it is only the weight which is necessary to keep down the diver while he is hunting for pearls.
Suffering is getting what you do not want while wanting what you do not get.
My mother sighed, making me feel that I was placing an intolerable burden on her, and yet making me resent having to feel this weight. She looked tired, as she often did these days. Her tiredness bored me, made me want to attack her for it.
Resignation, perhaps the most stifling word in the language.
The soul is pained by all things it thinks upon.
The heavy weight of many a weary day Not mine, and such as were not made for me.
What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?
There's no agony like [getting started]. You sit in a room, biting pencils, looking at a typewriter, walking about, or casting yourself down on a sofa, feeling you want to cry your head off.
Prayer in its highest form is agonizing soul sweat.
We have resolved to endure the unendurable and suffer what is insufferable.
There is among the people a silent, long-suffering grief; it withdraws into itself and is silent.
The insupportable labor of doing nothing.
The weight of this sad world, we must obey,
what we feel we must not say
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
The day exhausts me, irritates me. It is brutal, noisy. I struggle to get out of bed, I dress wearily and, against my inclination, I go out. I find each step, each movement, each gesture, each word, each thought as tiring as if I were lifting a crushing weight.
Cry my eyes out for days upon days Such a heaven burden placed upon me
Frustration, too evident in the cement clench of his jaw.
Distance, the ethereal detached from the flesh and bone.
Impatience, in the soft thrum of his heel as we sit in silence.
The Feeling Being
Groans that words cannot express" (Rom. 8:26) are often prayers that God cannot refuse. Charles H. Spurgeon
Are you in great physical pain, or is that your thinking expression?
Life is suffering--and yet.
There is some suffering that awaits us all.
Smoking blood, over-filled cemeteries, mothers in tears, - these are formidable pleaders. When the earth is suffering from too heavy a burden, there are mysterious groanings of the shades, to which the abyss lends an ear.
Unending was the stream, unending the misery, unending the sorrow.
Light burdens, long borne, grow heavy.
To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent.
Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
Crying is you, plus tears
We are the voices of the wandering wind,
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life,
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
Evoke at painful junctures, when discouragement threatens to raise its head, the image of a vast cretinous mouth, red blubber and slobbering, in solitary confinement, extruding indefatigably, with a noise of wet kisses and washing in a tub, the words that obstruct it.
Comes he walking windy-ways, wandering under spruces and through canyons and across shadowy glens, hands in his pockets and head bowed as if all the weight of the world lies teetering on his slumped shoulders.
We are angered even by the full acceptance of our humiliating confessions - how much more by hearing in hard distinct syllables from the lips of a near observer, those confused murmurs which we try to call morbid, and strive against as if they were the oncoming of numbness!
Words strain, crack, and sometime break, under the burden.
So, with smiles of most exquisite misery, and the laughing eye of utter despondency,
There is an aching that is worse than any pain.
There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering
a hell of boredom.
Weeping ... betraying a sense of loss so huge and irreparable that the mind balks at taking its measure.
Sorrow, like a heavy ringing bell, once set on ringing, with its own weight goes; then little strength rings out the doleful knell.
A sigh is an amplifier for people who suffer in silence.
All you have to do is close your eyes and endure the ... intense sensations you're about to experience."
"You mean the unbearable pain,"Bryson muttered. "Pain that's going
to make me cry.
Stiff shoulders humped over the writing-table, and the ache of a heart slow to move. A tortoise heart.
There is a mental fatigue which is a spurious kind of remorse, and has all the anguish of the nobler feeling. It is an utter weariness and prostration of spirit, a sickness of heart and mind, a bitter longing to lie down and die.
Sometimes the acutest of agonies are difficult to find expression in the given vocabulary: words fail but pain prevails.
Woe doth the heavier sit where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
It's sadness coming on like the old days, the vast seamless hopeless weight of sadness looking for a place to rest.
Disgust at the torments that shackle us, the chains of heavy life.
the deep moans round with many voices.
The beast that bears you fastest to perfection is suffering.
The most miserable mortals are they that deliver themselves up to their palates, or to their lusts; the pleasure is short, and turns presently nauseous, and the end of it is either shame or repentance.
Suffering is the common lot of man.
The shuddering would not stop. The pain was like the end of the world. He thought: There comes a point when the very discussion of pain becomes redundant. No one knows there is pain the size of this in the world. No one. It is like being possessed by demons.
Tiring because he felt prematurely the weight of carrying how stupidly fucking sad this was for the rest of his days.
I have a collective sense of suffering.
Suffering is overated.
My wails of sorrow
are tormenting my soul
When a great burden is lifted, the relief is not always felt at once. The galled places still ache.
Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting thorough my open mind possessing and caressing m
Long prayers are like nagging.
breathing then, for
I tell you the groans of the damned in hell are the deep bass of the universal anthem of praise that shall ascend to the throne of my God for ever and ever.
In the early days, it was nearly omnipresent, a constant background noise, like the hum of traffic on a busy highway: the sound of a human being in pain.