Quotes About Desperation

Surrounded by madness, surrounded by hunger, surrounded by everything but death, I knew death was our only way out.

I mean, what do you do, when you find that things are not what you were taught they're supposed to be? What do you do with the desperation that boils up from your stomach when you know there's a road out there with your destination at the end of it, but it's too damned dark to even find the road? You turn and turn and turn around like a dog trying to escape. Shrieks in the cavity of your head that so urgently needs to be filled with facts and challenges.

But commercialism is the last sinkhole of love, and when reached, by paths of desperation and paths of cruelty, misused emotions—all hope is gone. There is no return save by miracles, and there are no more miracles for the common among common men.

Oh, Jesus sweet Jesus, if there ever was a Jesus and if there is a God, please please please let us out of here, or kill us. Because at that moment I think I realized completely, so that I was able to verbalize it: AM was intent on keeping us in his belly forever, twisting and torturing us forever. The machine hated us as no sentient creature had ever hated before. And we were helpless. It also became hideously clear: If there was a sweet Jesus and if there was a God, the God was AM.

Some hundreds of years may have passed. I don't know. AM has been having fun for some time, accelerating and retarding my time sense. I will say the word now. Now. It took me ten months to say now. I don't know. I think it has been some hundreds of years.

There wasn't any anger involved (I think). I mean, what was I supposed to be angry with? What I was feeling was a fundamental numbness. The numbness your heart automatically activates to lessen the awful pain when you want somebody desperately and they reject you. A kind of emotional morphine.

I was desperately clinging to a scrap of wood that had been swept away. In pitch-black darkness, not a single star, or the moon, visible in the sky. As long as I clung to that piece of wood I wouldn't drown, but I had no clue where I was, where I was heading.

But finally, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, isn't that just what life is? Aren't we all trapped in the dark somewhere, and they've taken away our food and water, and we're slowly dying, little by little...?

She gave me this look – she might have been watching from a lifeboat as the ship went down. Or maybe it was the other way around.

It's not so easy for people to end their own lives. It's not like in the movies. There, they do it like nothing, no pain, and it's all over, they're dead. The reality is not like that. You lie in bed for ten years with the piss oozing out of you.

Like a person in a storm desperately grasping at a lamppost, he clung to his daily routine.

Is this what it means to go back to square one? Most likely. He had nothing left to lose, other than his life.

Only by taking his own life was my uncle able to recover his humanity.

When I opened a book now, I was seized with desperation. I felt as if I was madly in love. It was as if I were in a confession booth and the characters in the book were on the other side telling me their most intimate secrets. When I read, I was a philosopher and it was up to me to figure out the meaning of things. Reading made me feel as if I were the center of the universe.

When I open a book now, I was seized with desperation. I felt as if I was madly in love. It was as if I were in a confession booth and the characters in the book were on the other side telling me their most intimate secrets. When I read, I was a philosopher and it was up to me to figure out the meaning of things. Reading made me feel as if I were the center of the universe.

In Santiago, the capital of the kingdom of Chile, at the moment of the great earthquake of 1647 in which many thousands lost their lives, a young Spaniard called Jeronimo Rugera was standing beside one of the pillars in the prison to which he had been committed on a criminal charge, and he was about to hang himself.

So, how to stay inside the world of entertainment without actually getting another job? I felt the only logical answer was to become a novelist. So I wrote the first book - driven by some very real feelings of desperation - and it worked.

Well, yeah, but I probably wasn't as open about my desperation.

My dad grew up in Banbridge, Northern Ireland, desperate to get to London. I grew up in London, so I don't know what it's like to yearn for the big city from a small town.

Every age yearns for a more beautiful world. The deeper the desperation and the depression about the confusing present, the more intense that yearning.

The tragedy of it is that nobody sees the look of desperation on my face. Thousands and thousands of us, and we're passing one another without a look of recognition.

I wanted to transmit what it feels like to be on the so-called IVF emotional rollercoaster, and I guess I wanted to offer a shared aloneness to anyone who's desperately longed for a child.

Whatever you do, don't shut off your pain. Accept your pain and remain vulnerable. However desperate you become, don't shut off your pain because it is in fact trying to hand you a precious gift -- the chance of discovery through spiritual practice, what lies behind sorrow. And don't we know and only far too well, that protection from pain doesn't work. And when we try and defend ourselves from suffering, we only suffer more and don't learn what we can from experience.

Tutto cospirava contro di lui, tutto puntava alla sua sconfitta. Premette il corpo contro le sbarre, stanco fino al midollo. Stanco di nascondersi e vivere di sotterfugi, stanco di essere preso in giro dalla fortuna. Stanco di preoccuparsi, di prendere decisioni, di essere responsabile, di essere costretto a resistere. Stanco di vedersi sottrarre le cose. Stanco della tristezza che aveva nel cuore.