During World War II, Henry Beecher and his colleagues at Harvard Medical School made a fundamental observation. In the first systematic study of its kind, they found that soldiers suffering from severe battle wounds often experienced little or no pain. Indeed, many of the wounded expressed surprise at this odd dissociation.
Beecher, an anesthesiologist, concluded that the perception of pain depends on its context. For instance, the pain of an injured soldier on the battlefield would presumably be mitigated by the imagined benefits of being removed from danger, whereas a similar injury in a domestic setting would present quite a different set of circumstances that could exacerbate the pain (loss of work, financial liability, and so on).

ذكرني بهاي

كَفى بالمَرءِ إثمًا أنْ يضيّع مَن يَعول

— النبي محمد (ص)

By Caspar David Friedrich

He's the guy who painted the famous "Wanderer above the sea of fog"

https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/regulars/55561/wittgensteins-forgotten-lesson.

When Wittgenstein was once discussing his favourite novel, The Brothers Karamazov, with Maurice Drury, Drury said that he found the character of Father Zossima impressive. Of Zossima, Dostoevsky writes: "It was said that... he had absorbed so many secrets, sorrows, and avowals into his soul that in the end he had acquired so fine a perception that he could tell at the first glance from the face of a stranger what he had come for, what he wanted and what kind of torment racked his conscience." "Yes," said Wittgenstein, "there really have been people like that, who could see directly into the souls of other people and advise them."

.

• اِنْقَلَبَتْ عَلَيَّ الأَهْوَال. طَرَدَتْ كَالرِّيحِ نِعْمَتِي، فَعَبَرَتْ كَالسَّحَابِ سَعَادَتِي. • فَالآنَ انْهَالَتْ نَفْسِي عَلَيَّ، وَأَخَذَتْنِي أَيَّامُ الْمَذَلَّةِ. • اللَّيْلَ يَنْخَرُ عِظَامِي فِيَّ، وَعُروقِي لاَ تَهْجَعُ. • إِلَيْكَ أَصْرُخُ فَمَا تَسْتَجِيبُ لِي. أَقُومُ فَمَا تَنْتَبِهُ إِلَيَّ. • صِرتَ بالجَفاءِ تُعامِلُني، وبِقُدْرَةِ يَدِكَ تَضْطَهِدُنِي. • صِرْتُ أَخًا لِلذِّئَابِ، وَصَاحِبًا لِرِئَالِ البوم. • حَرِشَ جِلْدِي عَلَيَّ وَعِظَامِي احْتَرَقَت مِنَ الْحَرَارَةِ فِيَّ. • صَارَ عُودِي لِلنَّوْحِ، وَمِزْمَارِي لِلبُكاء.

[الكتاب المقدس، سِفر أيوب 30]

I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. • My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat. • My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.

[Job 30]

ولكنّ أيّوب إنْ صاحَ صاح
لكَ الحَمد، إنّ الرزايا نَدىً
وإنّ الجِراحَ هَدايا الحَبيب
أضمُّ إلى الصَدرِ باقاتِها
هداياكَ في خافِقي لا تَغيب
هَداياكَ مَقبولةٌ... هاتِها
أشُدُّ جِراحِي وأهتِفُ بالعائِدين:
ألا فانظُروا واحسِدوني
فهٰذِي هَدايا حَبيبي
وإنْ مَسَّتِ النارُ حَرَّ الجَبين
توهَّمتُها قُبلةً مِنكَ مَجبولةً مِن لَهيب

— سِفر أيوب لـ بدر شاكر السياب

Is it possible, I wonder, to study a bird so closely, to observe and catalogue its peculiarities in such minute detail, that it becomes invisible? Is it possible that while fastidiously calibrating the span of its wings or the length of its tarsus, we somehow lose sight of its poetry?

— Watchmen