Pain blazed in Lews Therin, and he screamed, a scream that came from his depths, a scream he could not stop. Fire seared his marrow; acid rushed along his veins. He toppled backwards, crashing to the marble floor; his head struck the stone and rebounded. His heart pounded, trying to beat its way out of his chest, and every pulse gushed new flame through him. Helplessly he convulsed, thrashing, his skull a sphere of purest agony on the point of bursting. His hoarse screams reverberated through the palace.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain receded. The outflowing seemed to take a thousand years and left him twitching weakly, sucking breath through a raw throat. Another thousand years seemed to pass before he could manage to heave himself over, muscles like jellyfish, and shakily push himself up on hands and knees.
Robert Jordan - “The Eye of the World.”
There is a worse pain. One that lingers through each day, persistent and ever-present, hollow and cold and empty. Extreme pain like that described above is an event. The more evil pain is like a malignancy that never ends, a frozen despair that extends into forever.
I hate the winter.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain receded. The outflowing seemed to take a thousand years and left him twitching weakly, sucking breath through a raw throat. Another thousand years seemed to pass before he could manage to heave himself over, muscles like jellyfish, and shakily push himself up on hands and knees.
Robert Jordan - “The Eye of the World.”
There is a worse pain. One that lingers through each day, persistent and ever-present, hollow and cold and empty. Extreme pain like that described above is an event. The more evil pain is like a malignancy that never ends, a frozen despair that extends into forever.
I hate the winter.
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