Pain (n.) outlasts crying: let her choose tears and him the pain — people tire of weeping aloud, but pain will take its turn again and again.
Pain (n.) really begins with the first doubt: why has this befallen me, why can it not be otherwise?
Pain (n.) that reflects always wants to be alone with itself and seeks a new pain in that solitude — unlike Philoctetes, who complains that no one understands him.
Pain (n.) is most real when its words are only figurative: Philoctetes is literally alone on his island; modern Antigone is alone only in a figurative sense — and just because of this her pain is real pain.
Pain (n.) belongs to each sex in its own way: woman bears children with pain, man conceives ideas with pain.
Pain (n.) at being unable to make oneself understood is the knight of faith's assurance that he is on the right way.
Pain (n.) that exceeds the pain one had thought in advance betrays a weakness: one had thrust something away instead of thinking the whole of it beforehand.