Quotes About Desperation

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.

How meanly and miserably we live for the most part! We escape fate continually by the skin of our teeth, as the saying is. We are practically desperate. What kind of gift is life unless we have spirits to enjoy it and taste its true flavor?

La massa degli uomini conduce una vita di quieta disperazione; quella che si chiama rassegnazione è disperazione istituzionalizzata.

Lo que llamamos resignación no es más que una confirmación de la desesperación.

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats.

The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.

What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.

As if you could kill time without injuring eternity. The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.

La mayoría de los hombres lleva vidas de tranquila desesperación. Lo que se llama resignación es desesperación confirmada.

he uttered the cry of a creature hurled over an abyss...

You did something once — you know it. O Ralph, you've been everything! What have I done for you — what can I do to-day? I would die if you could live. But I don't wish you to live; I would die myself, not to lose you. Her voice was as broken as his own and full of tears and anguish. You won't lose me — you'll keep me. Keep me in your heart; I shall be nearer to you than I've ever been.

But the sense that it was his last chance, that he loved her and had lost her, that she would think him a fool whatever he should say, suddenly gave him a lash and added a deep vibration to his low voice.

Well, you must be pretty desperate when you have got to go to Boston for your entertainment.

LEFT LEFT LEFT a wife and SEVenteen children in STARVing condition with NOTHing but gingerbread

I'm delirious because I'm dying so fast.

You start with the sublime and end up in an alley jerking away for dear life.

He looks about the room at the few sticks of furniture, at the dirty bed sheets and the wash basin with the dirty water still in it, and he says: I am a slave! Every day he says it, not once, but a dozen times. And then he takes his guitar from the wall and sings.

When a situation gets so bad that no solution seems possible there is left only murder and suicide, or both. These failing, one becomes a buffoon.

When a desperate, hungry spirit appears and makes the guinea pigs squeal it is because he knows where to put the live wire of sex, because he knows that beneath the hard carapace of indifference there is concealed the ugly gash, the wound that never heals.

It's like a man in the trenches again: he doesn't know any more why he should go on living, because if he escapes now he'll only be caught later, but he goes on just the same, and even though he has the soul of a cockroach and has admitted as much to himself, give him a gun or a knife or even just his bare nails, and he'll go on slaughtering and slaughtering, he'd slaughter a million men rather than stop and ask himself why.

When I look down into this fucked out cunt of a whore I feel the whole world beneath me, a world tottering and crumbling, a world used up and polished like a leper's skull.

One is ejected into the world like a dirty little mummy; the roads are slippery with blood and no one knows why it should be so. Each one is traveling his own way and, though the earth be rotting with good things, there is no time to pluck the fruits; the procession scrambles toward the exit sign, and such a panic is there, such a sweat to escape, that the weak and the helpless are trampled into the mud and their cries are unheard.