Hate Getting Hurt Quotes & Sayings
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Top Hate Getting Hurt Quotes

I love you, Bayler, and I know that's really scary for you to hear. I know you don't open your heart easily, and you're worried about getting hurt, but...Do you remember what you said to me after you pushed me out of the plane?"
"How could I forget?" I laughed blinking back tears. "I told you that you had nothing to worry about because you had a parachute."
"Let me be your parachute." His hands cupped my face as he stared down at me intensely. "Let me be your parachute, and I promise you'll never have to worry about getting hurt. Sure, we're going to fight and disagree, and there are going to be days where we hate each other, but I will always be there for you because I love you. — Steph Nuss

Find someone else to toy with. We both know I lack experience, so I don't know how to play the game without getting hurt. Besides, I hate games. I prefer knowing straight up what's real and what's bullcrap. — Jeaniene Frost

I think - " Anakin kicked his heel against the polished marble floor. "I think I hate it when I can't stop my men from getting hurt. From dying. I think - — Karen Miller

I come from a minimum wage working world, as we all did for at least some part of our lives, and that is never out of my rearview. I've never forgotten how much your feet hurt after you've stood on them for like 12 hours. And how the drudgery of a job you hate craps on your entire life; how you treat other people, how you treat yourself, and it really was getting to me. — Henry Rollins

It's total bullshit. I hate it when people make sadness all deep and beautiful and, like- profound. That's the word it's not profound. It's not beautiful. It sucks. It sucks balls. I think it makes non-sad people feel better. Like, they think if must be a good thing to be sad, because you're getting all this insight into real life and pain or whatever. Like how people say tears are like rain. Fuck off. Tears are just tears and they make your eyes hurt and they won stop when you want them to and ugh you get all those arty photos of girls crying - it's always girls, have you noticed?- and it's so beautiful and tasteful and moving. When the reality is your face goes all blotchy and your nose runs and you can taste it every time you breathe'
'Taste what?'
'It. Pain. Sadness. I'm just saying that sadness isn't beautiful and if it looks that way, it's a lie. — Sara Barnard

Help me. Oh God, help me. ... I can't feel anything. But I know I'm hurt bad. I can't move my body and I can't feel my legs. ... I'm scared. Please don't leave me. ... I wish there was some light. I hate the darkness. ... I'm getting sleepy. I don't want to fall asleep. Keep talking to me, will you? — Edward C. Raymer

Jesus came to show us that the gospel explains success in terms of giving, not taking; self-sacrifice, not self-protection; going to the back, not getting to the front. The gospel shows that we win by losing, we triumph through defeat, we achieve power through service, and we become rich by giving ourselves away.
In fact, in gospel-centered living we follow Jesus in laying down our lives for those who hate us and hurt us. We spend our lives serving instead of being served, and seeking last place, not first. Gospel-centered people are those who love giving up their place for others, not guarding their place from others
because their value and worth is found in Christ, not their position. — Tullian Tchividjian

Back in grade school, my shrinks tried to channel my viciousness into a constructive outlet, so I cut things with scissors. Heavy, cheap fabrics Diane bought by the bolt. I sliced through them with old metal shears going up and down: hateyouhateyouhateyou. The soft growl of the fabrics as I sliced it apart, and that perfect last moment, when your thumb is getting sore and your shoulders hurt from hunching and cut, cut, cut ... free, the fabric now swaying in two pieces in your hands, a curtain parted. And then what? That's how I felt now, like I'd been sawing away at something and come to the end and here I was by myself again, in my small house with no job, no family, and I was holding two ends of fabric and didn't know what to do next. — Gillian Flynn