Bitter Pill To Swallow Quotes

It's okay to be absurd, ridiculous, and downright irrational at times; silliness is sweet syrup that helps us swallow the bitter pills of life.

In light of my distanced telescopic exposure to the mayhem, I refused to plagiarise others’ personal tragedies as my own. There is an authorship in misery that costs more than empathy. Often I’d found myself dumbstruck in failed attempts to simulate that particular unfamiliar dolour. After all, no one takes pleasure in being possessed by a wailing father collecting the decapitated head of his innocent six year old. Even on the hinge of a willing attempt at full empathy with those cursed with such catastrophes, one had to have a superhuman emotional powers. I could not, in any way, claim the ability to relate to those who have been forced to swallow the never-ending bitter and poisonous pills of our inherited misfortune. Yet that excruciating pain in my chest seemed to elicit a state of agony in me, even from far behind the telescope. It could have been my tribal gene amplified by the ripple effect of the falling, moving in me what was left of my humanity.

Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. (So my hands won’t shake.) (So my heart won’t race.) (So my face won’t thaw.) (So my blood won’t mold.) (So the voices won’t scream.) (So I don’t reach for knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won’t rattle.) (So I don’t weep on the bus.) (So I don’t wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia sleeps.) (So I don’t jump at car horns.) (So I don’t jump at cat-calls.) (So I don’t jump a bridge.) (So I don’t twitch.) (So I don’t riot.) (So I don’t slit a strange man’s throat.)

This whole time she's swallowed her words like bitter pills not realizing they were slow-drip poison.

All I wanted to do was be a hero... But do I ever get to be a hero? All I ever get to be is the stupid goat!" "Don't be discouraged, Charlie Brown... In this life we live, there are always some bitter pills to be swallowed..." "If it's all the same with you, I'd rather not renew my perscription!

The drag queens who started Stonewall are no better off today, but they made the world safe for gay Republicans. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but the people who make change are not the people who benefit from it

During that long terrible ride to Munich, I finally swallowed the bitter pill of my lover's rejection and poisoned myself with it. I murdered the personality I was born with and transformed myself from a butterfly back in into a caterpillar. That night I learned to seek the shadows, to prefer silence

How ironic! After decades of grub, deluges of wine and alcohol of every sort, after a life spent in butter, cream, rich sauces, and oil in constant, knowingly orchestrated and meticulously cajoled excess, my trustiest right-hand men, Sir Liver and his associate Stomach, are doing marvelously well and it is my heart that is giving out. I am dying of cardiac insufficiency. What a bitter pill to swallow.

Realizing your own mother was incapable of truly seeing you—of loving you for who you are rather than as an extension of herself—is a bitter pill to swallow. It’s the death of a fundamental childhood hope, the one where if you just try hard enough, Mommy will love you unconditionally. But in a strange way, this understanding has also been incredibly liberating. I now know that I could never have been “good” enough or “perfect” enough to make Ruby truly happy or proud. The insatiable void I was trying to fill wasn’t created by me, and it wasn’t mine to fix. That realization, as painful as it is, is the first step on the path to healing—for me, if not for her.

They say truth can be a bitter pill to swallow, but lies can be even more of a bitter pill and will fester in the belly.

We know how unsafe the world is for us. We are like cliffs staring down at a raging sea, battered by winds and salt and spray and unable to wrench ourselves away from the supposed inevitability of it all. But though we may recede under the relentless thrashing, still we stand tall. The world and all its angry currents cannot break us, no matter how hard it tries. Still, this erosion of the spirit is a bitter pill to swallow.

Junko: That sort of thing happens all the time. You get drunk on your own "correctness," and the more stubborn you get, the further happiness flies away from you. It's a bitter pill to swallow. Madoka: I wonder if there's any way I can help... Junko: Even good advice from others won't bring any clear solutions to someone in that frame of mind. ...Even so, you want to find a solution? Then go ahead and screw up. If she's being too correct, then somebody should make mistakes for her. Madoka: I should screw up...? Junko: Yep! Tell a really bad lie. Run away in the face of something scary. She may not understand what you're trying to do at first, but there are times when you realize in hindsight that a mistake was the right thing to do... During those times when you're just stuck for an answer, making a mistake is one method of unsticking yourself. Madoka, you've grown up to be a good kid. You don't tell lies, and you don't do bad things. You're a girl who works hard at what she thinks is right. You get an "A" as a child. So before you become an adult, you have to start practicing falling down. You see, we adults have our pride and responsibilities, so it becomes harder and harder to make mistakes.

It’s hard not to be impatient with the absurdity of the young; they tell us that two and two make four as though it had never occurred to us, and they’re disappointed if we can’t share their surprise when they have discovered that a hen lays an egg. There’s a lot of nonsense in their ranting and raving, but it’s not all nonsense. One ought to sympathize with them; one ought to do one’s best to understand. One has to remember how much has to be forgotten and how much has to be learnt when for the first time one faces life. It’s not very easy to give up one’s ideals, and the brute facts of every day are bitter pills to swallow. The spiritual conflicts of adolescence can be very severe and one can do little to resolve them.

Failure is always a bitter pill to swallow," Mr. Crepsley said.

Mao was several inches taller than Stalin, and this was a bitter pill to swallow, since Stalin often referred to Asians as “tiny.

Regret is a bitter pill to swallow, Rebecca. Fear causes you to make extremely regrettable decisions. Even if you think you’re doing the right thing.

waited for a long time for someone to come along and rescue me, just like in the stories. It was a bitter pill to swallow when I realized that no one would ever pick up the glass slipper I left behind.

They say truth can be a bitter pill to swallow, but lies can be even more of a bitter pill and will fester in the belly. Molly wailed, bringing herself to the point of gagging and vomiting, as she flushed the demons from her system, these fiendish angels which had haunted her more than anything this possessed house could ever raise. She’d never spoken about why Mike and Henry had been taken in the accident; her girls never knew it should’ve been their own mother on the road that night, but she’d been all liquored up at a silly work party, and she was taking that to her grave — where she should be right now.

Germany’s emergence as a self-confident, non-aggressive, democratic power – not to speak of the humanitarian example it has set – is a pill too bitter for many of us Brits to swallow. That is a sadness that I have regretted for far too long.

To swallow a bitter pill, a child is made to play hopscotch for a horehound,” Dr. Praxton had said.

You must be able to swallow bitter pills without becoming bitter.

I swallowed my heartbreak like a bitter pill

Two years ago, Hanna said she was going on vacation with Laura downstate and instead drove to Marquette and had her tubes tied. She wasn't going to end up like her mother, with too many children in a too-small house with too little to eat. Despite her best efforts, however, she has found herself living in a too-small house with too many people and too little to eat. It is a bitter pill to swallow.

There is always a happy ending in children’s books. Because I have not yet begun to read adult books, I have come to accept this convention as a fact of life as well. In the physics of imagination, this is the rule: a child can only accept a just world. I waited for a long time for someone to come along and rescue me, just like in the stories. It was a bitter pill to swallow when I realized that no one would ever pick up the glass slipper I left behind.

The rest I omit, for many a bitter Pill can be swallowed under a golden Cover: I make no Mencion that in each of my Churches I put a Signe so that he who sees the Fabrick may see also the Shaddowe of the Reality of which it is the Pattern or Figure. Thus, in the church of Lime-house, the nineteen Pillars in the Aisles will represent the Names of Baal-Berith, the seven Pillars of the Chappell will signify the Chapters of his Covenant. All those who wish to know more of this may take up Clavis Salomonis, Niceron's Thaumaturgus Opticus where he speaks of Line and Distance, Cornelius Agrippa his De occuItia philosophia and Giordano Bruno his De magia and De vinculis in genere where he speaks of Hieroglyphs and the Raising of the Devilles.

What I want you to understand is that when I heard your words, it was as if every single second we had spent together up to that point was a lie. Every word, every touch, every kiss. You were looking at me, but you wanted him. I was this…thing to be endured to keep your family safe. You would allow me to touch you, to make love to you all the while wishing for Colin. I thought all that passion we had between us was a complete figment of my imagination and it was a bitter pill to swallow. I hated you. Worse than I’d ever hated anyone in my life. I was determined to make you pay. I’d keep you shackled to me forever as punishment. Keep you away from your true love.” Bree stared at him, unable to fathom such cruelty. Who was this man she loved that was capable of such a thing? “And then?” He took a deep shaky breath and leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I spent all my energy trying to prove to myself by looking at you that you were lying to me, to justify what I was doing by picking up little gestures or flickers in your eyes that would prove to me that you felt nothing for me.” Bree rolled her eyes and gave a tearful snort. “And did you, after how hard I fought for you, did you get what you wanted? Did you prove to yourself what a lying bitch I am?” “No. Of course not. So I started to doubt what I heard.” “After living with Bernardo for all your life it had just occurred to you that he just may have tampered with the fucking thing?” Bree bit out, furiously.

The sting of her abandonment had not lessened through the years, and I suspected it would never go away. Occasionally, I could see agony in her eyes, the shadows that flickered in the background. If I could, I'd take her pain and make it my own. I'd swallow it like a bitter pill and live with the consequences.

We are in the process of instituting a reign of terror on earth, and there’s only one word that justifies that as far as these savages are concerned: the word of this or that god. In name of a divine entity we can do whatever the hell we like and most of those fools down there will swallow it like a bitter pill.

The Mad Gardener's Song He thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. 'At length I realise,' he said, 'The bitterness of Life!' He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimney-piece: He looked again, and found it was His Sister's Husband's Niece. 'Unless you leave this house,' he said, 'I'll send for the Police!' He thought he saw a Rattlesnake That questioned him in Greek: He looked again, and found it was The Middle of Next Week. 'The one thing I regret,' he said, 'Is that it cannot speak!' He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk Descending from the bus: He looked again, and found it was A Hippopotamus. 'If this should stay to dine,' he said, 'There won't be much for us!' He thought he saw a Kangaroo That worked a coffee-mill: He looked again, and found it was A Vegetable-Pill. 'Were I to swallow this,' he said, 'I should be very ill!' He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four That stood beside his bed: He looked again, and found it was A Bear without a Head. 'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing! It's waiting to be fed!' He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A Penny-Postage Stamp. 'You'd best be getting home,' he said: 'The nights are very damp!' He thought he saw a Garden-Door That opened with a key: He looked again, and found it was A Double Rule of Three: 'And all its mystery,' he said, 'Is clear as day to me!' He thought he saw a Argument That proved he was the Pope: He looked again, and found it was A Bar of Mottled Soap. 'A fact so dread,' he faintly said, 'Extinguishes all hope!

That a woman—of age, well-read, and well-educated—could not be expected to comprehend the stirrings of the heart when men grew passionate for a cause, or grew restless for change, was a grave affront indeed. That her beloved father, who carefully nurtured her every curiosity, and her brother, who lovingly shared every lesson learned, would believe her to be insensible or incapable of aspiring to better the world tore at her heart. She strove to maintain some sort of equanimity but the nature of the events was far too implausible to allow. “It is a bitter pill to swallow,” she murmured at length. “It seems the men in my family deemed it necessary to withhold their dearest worldly concerns from me, after all we had been to one another.

Unfortunately, Primrose, while delighted to be asked, was equally unhelpful. "Oh, Percy, simply see if she'd like to be wooed and then woo her. Must you make everything so complicated?" "I hardly think wandering up and saying, Pardon me, Dr Ruthven, but would you like to be courted by, well, me? is particularly romantic. Or is it? I really don't know. Prim rolled her eyes. "Say it in Latin." Percy actually considered that. But it seemed just as daunting. If not more so. Latin made it real. The thing was, his entire life, Percy had been good at anything he put his mind to. But only those things. He was perfectly well aware that in matters convivial he was an abysmal failure. Arsenic was important, so he didn't want to fail her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, doctor pun intended, but he figured he ought to read up on such things as love poetry and romance before he attempted anything like a direct approach.

Brightly and merrily swaying, like an April shower, came the young lady. Perhaps if she had been sad and conscience stricken, like certain dames of old who left the site of their illicit love as woe-begone as the passing moment that never returns; if the lady had approached in full cognizance of her frailty, ready to forego a man's respectful handkisses of greeting, and trembling in shame at the tryst exposed in broad daylight, like Risoulette, sixty-six times, whenever having misbehaved, she hastened back home teary-eyed to her Captain; or if a lifelong memory's untearable veil had floated over her fine features, like the otherworldly wimple of a nun . . . Then Pistoli would have stood aside, closed his eyes, swallowed the bitter pill, and come next winter, might have scrawled on the wall something about women's unpredictability. Then he would have glimpsed ghostly, skeletal pelvic bones reflected in his wine goblet, and strands of female hair, once wrapped around the executioner's wrist, hanging from his rafters; and would have heard wails and cackles emanating from the cellar's musty wine casks, but eventually Pistoli would have forgiven this fading memory, simply because women are related to the sea and the moon, and that is why at times they know not what they do.

The war broke out overseas, and Holger started to fret. As the months passed, he grew steadily more unhappy. He had no deep political convictions, but he found he hated the Nazis with a fervor that astonished us both. When the Germans entered his country, he went on a three-day jag. However, the occupation began fairly peacefully. The Danish government had swallowed the bitter pill, remained at home – the only such government which did – and accepted the status of a neutral power under German protection. Don’t think that didn’t take courage. Among other things, it meant the king was for some years able to prevent the outrages, especially upon Jews, which the citizens of other occupied nations suffered. Holger

Only one solution presented itself. I went from chemist to chemist buying packets of paracetamol. I bought only a few packets at a time to avoid arousing suspicion—but I needn’t have worried. No one paid me the least attention; I was clearly as invisible as I felt. It was cold in my room, and my fingers were numb and clumsy as I tore open the packets. It took an immense effort to swallow all the tablets. But I forced them all down, pill after bitter pill. Then I crawled onto my uncomfortable narrow bed. I shut my eyes and waited for death. But death didn’t come. Instead a searing, gut-wrenching pain tore through my insides. I doubled up and vomited, throwing up bile and half-digested pills all over myself. I lay in the dark, a fire burning in my stomach, for what seemed like eternity.

BLACK WINGS At the same Olympics, staged by Hitler to consecrate the superiority of his race, the star that shone brightest was black, a grandson of slaves, born in Alabama. Hitler had no choice but to swallow the bitter pill, four of them actually: the four gold medals that Jesse Owens won in sprinting and long jump. The entire world celebrated those victories of democracy over racism. When the champion returned home, he received no congratulations from the president, nor was he invited to the White House. He returned to the usual: he boarded buses by the back door, ate in restaurants for Negroes, used bathrooms for Negroes, stayed in hotels for Negroes. For years, he earned a living running for money. Before the start of baseball games he would entertain the crowd by racing against horses, dogs, cars, or motorcycles. Later on, when his legs were no longer what they had been, Owens took to the lecture circuit. He did pretty well there, praising the virtues of religion, family, and country.

THERE WERE BANKS of candles flickering in the distance and clouds of incense thickening the air with holiness and stinging his eyes, and high above him, as if it had always been there but was only now seen for what it was (like a face in the leaves of a tree or a bear among the stars), there was the Mystery Itself whose gown was the incense and the candles a dusting of gold at the hem. There were winged creatures shouting back and forth the way excited children shout to each other when dusk calls them home, and the whole vast, reeking place started to shake beneath his feet like a wagon going over cobbles, and he cried out, “O God, I am done for! I am foul of mouth and the member of a foul-mouthed race. With my own two eyes I have seen him. I’m a goner and sunk.” Then one of the winged things touched his mouth with fire and said, “There, it will be all right now,” and the Mystery Itself said, “Who will it be?” and with charred lips he said, “Me,” and Mystery said “GO.” Mystery said, “Go give the deaf Hell till you’re blue in the face and go show the blind Heaven till you drop in your tracks because they’d sooner eat ground glass than swallow the bitter pill that puts roses in the cheeks and a gleam in the eye. Go do it.” Isaiah said, “Do it till when?” Mystery said, “Till Hell freezes over.” Mystery said, “Do it till the cows come home.” And that is what a prophet does for a living, and, starting from the year that King Uzziah died when he saw and heard all these things, Isaiah went and did it.

At this point the room erupted – question after question raining down on Helen. It was a sustained assault but Helen had no choice but to weather it, however damaging or provocative the questions were. She needed the public to be vigilant, so she needed the press onside. It was a bitter pill to swallow but the situation was critical now. Sometimes in life you have to feed the hand that bites you.

That’s how it begins: my story of great joys and challenges, of setbacks and successes and bitter pills to swallow, but most importantly, my story is one of love and forgiveness. These are the experiences I want to share because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is our best teacher and we’d better not cut any classes.

Compliments and criticisms : they are sweet syrups and bitter pills for us to swallow and get better and better as the days roll by.

Ho. What’s so surprising? Asach aahe. It is what it is. Bambai is a bitter pill. Take large gulps of water and swallow it, or its bitterness will quickly begin to sphraidd in your mouth, making it impossible for you to gulp it down,” said Laxmi.

When life is a bitter pill to swallow, you gotta to hold on to what you believe. Believe that the sun will shine tomorrow

It is a remarkable irony that many of the best shows in London— Chicago, Oklahoma!—and even such harmless diversions as The Lion King and Beauty and the Beast—are imports from the colonies, while the homegrown productions include such luxurious twaddle as Mamma Mia!, Bombay Dreams, and Starlight Express. Brits who view’ American culture with disdain are the ones who must pay the freight here, being careful not to throw stones from inside their glass houses. Though it is doubtless a bitter pill to swallow, not everything that is idiotic, pandering, or unsophisticated originated in the land of the free and the home of Kenny G. Americans did not invent Cats.

Field Collapse. The answer to Schrodinger's dilemma is what we now call field collapse. In QFT, when a field quantum interacts, it must interact as a unit. Half of the quantum cannot do one thing while the other half does another. If a quantum is absorbed by a molecule, the entire quantum must be absorbed, no matter how spread out it may be. If a quantum is scattered by a molecule in a cloud chamber, it can interact only with that molecule, and not with several molecules at the same time. As Art Hobson wrote, The tracks are made by successive individual interactions between a matter field and gas or water molecules. The matter field collapses...each time it interacts with a molecule, while spreading out as a matter field between impacts. However, I must remind you that field collapse, while a necessary consequence of the quantum nature of fields, is not described by the equations of QFT. This problem will be discussed further in Chapter 8 (The Gaps). Nonetheless, and even though many physicists find it a bitter pill to swallow, there is nothing inconsistent or paradoxical about field collapse. It just isn't what we expected.

It is a bitter pill to swallow, I know. But for a fleeting moment in time, the only two people on earth with holes in their heads found each other. They just got the timing wrong is all.

They had been told that in capitalist countries only the rich went to school, while the children of workers and peasants remained illiterate. When we told them that school was free and compulsory for six years, they realized that there was something wrong, somewhere. It took them time to become aware that their regime had lied to them all along. We understood that serfdom had been abolished all over Europe after the revolution of 1848, yet in Russia it was still prevalent, not only for peasants but for everybody - save the party. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

In the end I said to her, "You can't understand me; we belong to two different generations." She was terribly offended, but I thought to myself, "What's one to do? The pill is bitter but it has to be swallowed." Now our turn has come, and our heirs can say to us, "You don't belong to our generation. Swallow the pill.

For most people, Truth is a BITTER PILL which no one wants to even swallow to heal the denial and delusion; for "Perceptionists" truth is of lesser value as they are be-clouded by the denial and reality of issues as well as their own surroundings

We often find it easy to give someone a bitter pill to swallow than to swallow the bitter pill ourselves; so it is with the TRUTH, we find it easy to tell someone the truth about THEMSELVES, than to be told the TRUTH about OURSELVES

It’s hard enough accepting death; feeling as though you’re useless while you’re still around would be a bitter pill to swallow.

The Captain experienced a feeling of elation which was extraordinarily pleasant. He was a man who was profoundly interested in the art of living. Rembrandt gave him pleasure, and so did the Fifth Symphony; so did bouillabaisse at Marseilles or Southern cooking at New Orleans or a properly served Yorkshire pudding in the North of England; so did a pretty girl or an elegant woman; so did a successful winning hazard from a difficult position at billiards, or a Vienna coup at bridge; and so did success in battle. These were the things that gilded the bitter pill of life which everyone had to swallow. They were as important as life and death; not because they were very important, but because life and death were not very important.

Worried about me, Hellspawn?” The corners of his mouth twitched, the arrogant grin sliding back into place. But it was too late for him. I’d already seen past all of that. “No,” I teased. “You’re far too much of an asshole to worry about. You’d be a bitter pill to swallow.” His eyebrows rose slowly. “You can always spit.” I swore my mouth fell open, because that wasn’t what I meant at all, but his grin was pure devilish glee.

Worried about me, Hellspawn?” The corners of his mouth twitched, the arrogant grin sliding back into place. But it was too late for him. I’d already seen past all of that. “No,” I teased. “You’re far too much of an asshole to worry about. You’d be a bitter pill to swallow.” His eyebrows rose slowly. “You can always spit.

Not that he did not harbor some resentment. The constant testing of his patience, the frequent concessions to others, the many bitter pills swallowed in silence, had exasperated him so much that his health would surely have suffered had he not occasionally vented. But since in the end there were people in the world, close to him, that he knew could do him no harm, he could take out his long repressed annoyance on them, and indulge in the pleasure of losing his temper and unleashing some misdirected shouts. He was a harsh critic of men who did not behave like him, but only when he could voice his criticism without even the most remote danger. The defeated man had at the very least been imprudent. The murdered man had always been a troublemaker. And if a man’s head had been split open after standing up for himself against someone stronger, Don Abbondio could still find some fault in him. Which was easy enough, since right and wrong are never so neatly divided that each side is either one or the other. He was especially critical of his fellow priests who, at their own risk, took the side of a weak victim against a powerful bully.

Perhaps,’ said Matthew dubiously, ‘at some future period men will be able to look back and say, why, it was merely a bitter pill they had to swallow before achieving their present state of felicity, but for the moment, although it’s clear what they’ve lost with their traditional way of life, it’s not so easy to see what they’ve gained. Improved medicine in some places, but mainly to combat new illnesses we’ve brought with us. Education … largely to become unemployable or exploited clerks in the service of our businesses or government departments … And so on.

When I finally realized that I do have that power, when I swallowed that bitter pill and realized that I had chosen to be miserable, I also realized that I could choose not to be miserable. “At that moment I stood up. I felt as though I was being let out of San Quentin. I wanted to yell to the whole world, ‘I am free! I am let out of prison! No longer am I going to be controlled by the treatment of some person.

I don't think any of us are prepared for the bitter pill we're sometimes asked to swallow.

Rejection for some reason seemed to inflict a deep pan that cut into the heart and engraved itself onto the mind and although time healed most wounds, somehow the bitterness of rejection was a much tougher pill to swallow.

The bitter pill of infidelity was hard to swallow as it sank down inside Zidane's stomach silently like a rock as he sought to escape the suffocation of the house and the basement where he'd been betrayed as quickly as possible.

I swallow my emotions like a bitter pill, because I am scared to wear my tears like jewelry.

But the thing that I’ve always said – and I absolutely stand by this today – is that if the league season had finished in January rather than May, we’d have won the title. And that’s what makes it such a bitter pill to swallow.

It may be a bitter pill to swallow, but the majority of mistakes made by pupils are the result of the teaching.

I dreamt of you last night. This is not the first time you have visited me in a dream, forgiveness being such a difficult pill to swallow. Just when you think it's done, you find yourself choking on the remnants of bitterness.

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