Quotes About Healing

Rather often I am asked whether the grief remains as intense as when I wrote. The answer is, No. The wound is no longer raw. But it has not disappeared. That is as it should be. If he was worth loving, he is worth grieving over. Grief is existential testimony to the worth of the one loved. That worth abides. So I own my grief. I do not try to put it behind me, to get over it, to forget it… Every lament is a love-song.

THE TEARS ... streamed down, and I let them flow as freely as they would, making of them a pillow for my heart. On them it rested. -AUGUSTINE, Confessions IX, i z

The damage that you have inflicted heals over, and the scarred places left behind have unusual surface areas, roughnesses enough to become the nodes around which wisdom weaves its fibrils.

Isn't crying a good thing? Why would we want to give pills to people so they don't weep? When you read a great line in a poem, what's the first thing you do? You can't help it. Crying is a good thing.

After a night of poison, your brain wakes up in the morning saying, No, I don't give a shit who introduced the sweet potato into North America. The damage that you have inflicted heals over, and the scarred places left behind have unusual surface areas, roughnesses enough to become the nodes around which wisdom weaves its fibrils.

I'm still pretty sick about what I've lost, but I only admit it to myself late at night, which is probably why I'm not the best sleeper.

I wanted to hurt her, on this day of all days, just because it's the first time since she left that I've been able to.

What better way to exorcise rejection demons than to screw the person who rejected you?

he was home on his own and listening to the sort of music he needed to listen to when he felt like this, music that seemed to find the sore spot in him and press up hard against it...

I'll have got him out of my system." "I hope not." "Really?" "What would there be left of you, if you did?

I've spent nearly thirty years listening to people sing about broken hearts, has it helped me any? Has it fuck.

The way to win our heart back is to venture again, to risk giving, receiving and trusting again, and of course to risk getting hurt again, but deciding to forgive and to no longer use the hurt or fear to keep ourselves in prison.

They ease, I suppose, and smooth away a little and become a part of your life's pattern. The sharp edges do get dulled in time..." "But every so often something will catch you," Holly said. "A memory, a place, a thought, and for that one moment the grief will be as sharp and terrifying as it ever was.

after all, who isn't a survivor from the wreck of childhood?

I finally understood that no matter what I did, or who I found, I-he-none of us-would ever be able to win over the memories she had of Dad, memories that soothed her even while they made her sad, because she'd built a world out of them she knew how to survive on even if no one else could.

A couple months after my heart attack, fifty-seven years after I'd given it up, I started to write again. I did it for myself alone, not for anyone else, and that was the difference. It didn't matter if I found the words, and more than that, I knew it would be impossible to find the right ones.

Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When one taketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his spirit—so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind man eyes, then doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so that he curseth him who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth upon him the greatest in him — so do the people teach concerning cripples

Life was full of surprises, with too many bruises and not enough Band-Aids.

One day I was handed a few volumes of new literature unlike anything I had ever read before and so captivating as to make me utterly forget my hopeless state. They were the earlier works of Mark Twain and to them might have been due the miraculous recovery which followed. Twenty-five years later, when I met Mr. Clemens and we formed a friendship between us, I told him of the experience and was amazed to see that great man of laughter burst into tears.

The dissolute and unlawful king came: Herod! I saw him with my own eyes when he called me to Jericho to heal him. I took along my secret herbs—I knew all about such lore—and went. I went, and from that day on, I have not been able to eat meat, for I saw his putrescent flesh; I have not been able to drink wine, for I saw his blood filled with worms. I have retained his stench in my nostrils for over thirty years.

He cherished all those he treated, even the ones made mean by their sickness, even the ones he knew had been mean before they'd become sick, because by seeking his help, somehow they became his.

He realized the lesson was that science can take medicine only so far. Then it is helped tremendously if there is faith or belief in something else.

I have never had a money practice; it would have been impossible for me. But the actual calling on people, at all times and under all conditions, the coming to grips with the intimate conditions of their lives, when they were being born, when they were dying, watching them die, watching them get well when they were ill, has always absorbed me. —William Carlos Williams, M.D. Autobiography

La medicina es como una lenta obra de albañilería. Somos afortunados si en el plazo de una vida podemos poner un solo ladrillo. Y si podemos explicar la enfermedad, alguien que aún no ha nacido estará en condiciones de conseguir su curación.