"Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them"
About this Quote
Cioran takes the humiliating truth we usually hide behind “coping” and turns it into an accusation: suffering isn’t just something that happens to us, it’s something we cultivate. The line is built like a trap. “Imaginary pains” sounds dismissive at first, the kind of phrase you’d use to scold someone for being dramatic. Then he flips it: those pains are “by far the most real.” The reversal is the point. What hurts most isn’t the bruise or the bill; it’s the story we attach to it, the rehearsed catastrophe, the private courtroom where we prosecute ourselves and others.
The subtext is darker than garden-variety pessimism. Cioran isn’t saying people occasionally overthink; he’s saying we need psychic pain the way we need orientation. If life doesn’t deliver a crisis, we manufacture one because pain provides structure: it gives the day a plot, the self a role, the mind a problem to gnaw. “Constant need” suggests compulsion, not choice. His “invent” isn’t creative play; it’s an existential addiction.
Context matters: Cioran wrote from the wreckage of the 20th century and from the interior wreckage of insomnia, exile, and disenchantment. In that atmosphere, optimism reads as naive, and suffering becomes a kind of proof-of-life. The line also anticipates today’s attention economy of anxiety: doomscrolling as self-authored dread, identity as an ongoing injury report. Cioran’s sting is that even when nothing is wrong, we can’t stand the silence - so we give ourselves something to endure.
The subtext is darker than garden-variety pessimism. Cioran isn’t saying people occasionally overthink; he’s saying we need psychic pain the way we need orientation. If life doesn’t deliver a crisis, we manufacture one because pain provides structure: it gives the day a plot, the self a role, the mind a problem to gnaw. “Constant need” suggests compulsion, not choice. His “invent” isn’t creative play; it’s an existential addiction.
Context matters: Cioran wrote from the wreckage of the 20th century and from the interior wreckage of insomnia, exile, and disenchantment. In that atmosphere, optimism reads as naive, and suffering becomes a kind of proof-of-life. The line also anticipates today’s attention economy of anxiety: doomscrolling as self-authored dread, identity as an ongoing injury report. Cioran’s sting is that even when nothing is wrong, we can’t stand the silence - so we give ourselves something to endure.
Quote Details
| Topic | Deep |
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