Quotes About Desperation

riding freights, working as a scullion in the railroad cookshacks, stumbling, down-crashing in wino alley nights, expiring on coal piles, dropping his yellowed teeth one by one in the gutters of the West.

They were not half living, or quarter living. They were simply so many bags of bones in which sparks of life fluttered faintly.

Carolyne and I were desperate for children of our own and I can't describe the happiness I felt when she became pregnant with twins after IVF treatment.

Also there is a twist to the story as I'm being haunted and driven crazy, attacked and so on. All I seem to do is run and scream and cry in every scene.

I don't know, I feel desperate when I sing. And I look desperate - it feels like I'm singing for my life, which makes me twitch, if that makes sense.

Even though I present myself at the height of glamour and beauty, part of my truth is being desperate and emotional and unafraid of being unattractive.

War doesn't have heroes, it only has the men who lost so many things in their life that they just keep going and do the most unthinkable things, just because they don't care anymore.

Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius.

The worst thing: to give yourself away in exchange for not enough love.

My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it's bound to be a waste of time in the end so you might as well go mad.

His head was barely above water, and he'd never welcomed drowning so much in his whole damn life.

Real hunger is when one man regards another man as something to eat.

neither poems nor prose just a length of rope just the wet earth -- that's the way home. neither vodka nor bread just bursts of rage just more new graves -- that's youth and that's love. neither sleep nor waking neither joy nor laughter just tears in the night -- so the rope, paper, knife.

Oto nadchodzi koniec ?wiata. Oto nadci?ga, zbli?a si? czy raczej przype?za mój w?asny koniec ?wiata. Koniec mego osobistego ?wiata. Ale zanim mój wszech?wiat rozpadnie si? w gruzy, rozsypie na atomy, eksploduje w pró?ni?, czeka mnie jeszcze ostatni kilometr mojej Golgoty, ostatnie okr??enie w tym maratonie, ostatnie kilka szczebli w dó? albo w gór? po drabinie bezsensu.

The thing is, I am so lonely I can hardly breathe.

It happened so quickly. One minute I was plucking the flower, and the next I was in his chariot immersed in darkness. I struggled to wrench myself free from his grasp and run away. I twisted as far as I could, hoping to see mother chasing after me. But ahead of me, behind me, on either side of me, everywhere I looked, all I could see was darkness.

Almighty, I am tired," she rasped. "Tired of broken and stolen lives. Tired of questions I cannot answer. Tired of being what I am not and never wished to be. Tired of tidings that deliver much pain and little relief.

Hope is really just desire disguised, just desperation, aching, dressed up like a prayer.

We see this a lot, people desperate to keep talking because when they stop we will leave and they will be left alone with what has happened.

Once the fear took hold, I was fucked. I'd never known anything like it could exist: all-consuming, ravenous, a whirling black vortex that sucked me under so completely and mercilessly that it truly felt like I was being devoured alive, bones splintered, marrow sucked.

he had been lost somewhere in the wild borderlands of nineteen, half in love with his friends with a love passing the love of women, desperate for some mystical rite that would reverse time and put their disintegrating private world back together.

In anguish and desperation, I reached out as I had many times before to the presence I call the Beloved. This unconditionally loving and wakeful awareness had always been a refuge for me.

Frightened of my futureless life, scared by my foolish anxieties, unable to see ahead and aiming nowhere, I continued ceaselessly living my ridiculously idiotic life.

Every one of us has lain down for a reason that was not love.