Quotes About Desperation

Selena's brows rose even higher. "Trez, I heard something—" "—'cuz I'm that desperate to have you!" "—that sounded like a gun!" They were both hollering over the engine, going back and forth as Fritz bat-out-of-hell'd it away from all the bullets. And then the fun really began.

Will you get off me! But I'm giving you CPR- I will die before kissing you, Hollywood. Z tried to sit up, his breathing heavy. Don't even think about it.

Beth," he whispered. "Come back to me." He brought more of his blood to her. "Damn it, don't you die!" Candles flared in the room. "I love you, damn you! Goddamn you, don't you let go!

Don't leave me again. God. God. Don't leave me again. I didn't Part of you did. He moved her back, and his eyes swarmed with emotion. Part of you left me, and I couldn't stand it.

He wanted to heave the glasses against the wall. Break them, break everything he could reach. Beat it, rend it. He stared out the window, imagined the city in flames, consumed to ashes. And still it wasn't enough.

The Church ruling is very clear. And rules often ignore the human and the individual factor. I think God ignores nothing. I think His compassion for His children is infinite. I can't believe, in my heart, God closes his door to those in pain, to those in desperation.

Fuckin' A... hope didn't so much spring eternal as it drowned out common sense and self-preservation.

Too late Bella. Now, it's too late. Show me.

He can't take her away!" he screamed at no one and everybody. "We just got her! He can't take her—he's a fucking stranger—" "Rhage," Mary got directly in front of him, jumping up to catch his eye. "Rhage, we have to—" Latching onto her wide, sad stare, he moaned, "She's ours…she's ours…this stranger can't take her away—she's ours….

O forse si stava solo illudendo. Ciò di cui era sicuro era che avrebbe fatto qualsiasi cosa pur di salvare suo fratello. Ed era pronto ad essere maledettamente creativo.

Beth» bisbigliò. «Torna da me.» Ripeté l'operazione cercando di farle bere il suo sangue. «Non morire, maledizione!» Le candele guizzarono nella stanza. «Io ti amo, accidenti a te! Accidentaccio a te, non arrenderti!»

Ah, hell, V, you're killing me." Butch O'Neal mined through his sock drawer, looking for black silk, finding white cotton. No, wait. He pulled out one dress sock. Not exactly a triumph. "If I were killing you, cop, footwear'd be the last thing on your mind.

Christ, it was like putting your face in a chum bucket and inhaling like the world were about to run out of oxygen.

The young male had been toyed with cruelly, his body a pincushion of shallow stabs. Going by the raw patches on his knees and the gravel in his palms, he'd tried to drag himself away a number of times.

As Apex trained his gun on the male who had given him the best blow job of his life about twelve hours before, he really wanted to shot the wolven. He was praying —praying— that the motherfucker would do something stupid. Which was saying something for an atheist.

I can't breathe.

The Abandoned Valley Can you understand being alone so long you would go out in the middle of the night and put a bucket into the well so you could feel something down there tug at the other end of the rope?

One fast move or I'm gone,' I realize, gone the way of the last three years of drunken hopelessness which is a physical and spiritual and metaphysical hopelessness you can't learn in school no matter how many books on existentialism or pessimisn you read, or how many jugs of vision-producing Ayahuasca drink, or Mescaline take, or Peyote goop up with -

You were my last chance' she's said but don't all women say that? - But can it be by 'last chance' she doesn't mean mere marriage but some profoundly sad realization of something in me she really needs to go on living, at least that impression coming across anyway on the force of all the gloom we've shared -

But there's no joy at all, people say Oh well he's drunk and happy let him sleep it off--The poor drunkard is *crying*--He's crying for his mother and father and great brother and great friend, he's crying for help. (p.111)

Not only was there no traffic but the rain came down in buckets and I had no shelter. I had to run under some pines to take cover; this did no good; I began crying and swearing and socking myself on the head for being such a damn fool.

Tienes que hacerlo! ¡Tienes que hacerlo o te morirás! ¡Venga, maldito idiota, habla con ella! ¿Qué coño te pasa? ¿Es que todavía no estás lo suficientemente cansado de andar por ahí solo?

Sometimes during the night I'd look at my poor sleeping mother cruelly crucified there in the American night because of no-money, no-hope-of-money, no family, no nothing, just myself the stupid son of plans all of them compacted of eventual darkness.

It was the bottom and dregs of America where all the heavy villains sink, where disoriented people have to go to be near a specific elsewhere they can slip into unnoticed. Contraband brooded in the heavy syrup air. Cops were red-faced and sullen and sweaty, no swagger. Waitresses were dirty and disgusted. Just beyond, you could feel the enormous presence of whole great Mexico and almost smell the billion tortillas frying and smoking in the night.