Quotes About Desperation

It is growing worse every day. At night "I get up to catch my breath. If I remained "flat on my back I believe I would die.

People who have been starved of water for a long time will drink anything, even if it is polluted.

Without you, I would be a monster.

wanting her mind off the one subject that held the potential to destroy the bond between them. If she ran, he hoped she would do as he'd asked and make sure she didn't leave him alive. Because without Sahara, the world would learn what a child became when his trainer wove nightmares into his mind—of knives slicing into flesh, of women begging for their lives—then put the blade into his hand.

When, in a desperate attempt to save their people from the twin scourges of murder and insanity, the Psy race decided to embrace the Silence Protocol and eliminate emotion from their lives, it was by no means an easy decision.

But it was not hatred that drove patients to mute desperation in their childhood, by alienating them from their feelings and their needs. It was such morality with which they were constantly pressured.

The soldiers became desperate. 'We were absolutely, literally starved,' noted Private Joseph Martin in his diary. After four days without food, he gnawed a piece of black birch bark off a stick. Then, 'I saw several of the men roast their old shoes and eat them.

Pegg, cowering in her bedroom, asked her housekeeper to check on the ailing Varick. Then, willing herself in to a frenzy, she tore at her hair and clothes, weeping, her sobs accelerating in volume.

I come from a plane that fell into the mountains. I am Uruguayan. We have been walking for ten days. I have a friend up here who is injured. In the plane there is fourteen injured people. We have to get of here quickly and we don't have any food. We are weak. When are you going to come and fetch us? Please. We can't even walk. Where are we?

All'inizio non abbiamo parlato a cuore aperto perché non era virile. Adesso non parliamo perché abbiamo paura, ci vergogniamo, e ci sentiamo disperati, ognuno nella propria solitudine. E' difficile sapere quando siamo passati dalla prima fase alla seconda.

And there was a throbbing in my head, a kind of pressure from the inside, and I found that I was shouting. I can't remember everything I said. I know it wasn't all about egg sandwiches. I remember that I said, "It's no wonder that I hate you so much, because you never listen!" I remember that I said, "I wish I were dead like my mother!

I wanted to confess that if someone took out a gun and killed me onstage he would be doing me a favor.

But one of the frustrating symptoms of my depression and anxiety is that I had no attention span at all. I would read one paragraph and then realize that I had no idea what I had just read, or I'd accidentally reread the same paragraph, over and over. I was desperate to find articles or research by someone who understood what I was going through.

in moments of crisis, people are willing to hand over a great deal of power to anyone who claims to have a magic cure—whether the crisis is a financial meltdown or, as the Bush administration would later show, a terrorist attack.

Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words and not one of them can save me.

I just put my head down and hold onto this crumbling fucking family with my bare hands. And I'm failing at it. I really am. I'm failing so bad and I don't know how to stop.

The whole world is pressing in on me, like a weight on my chest, slowly pushing me down and down. And there's nothing between me and this weight but my flimsy skin. It's not enough. It won't protect me. It doesn't keep anything out. The outside will keep pressing in until my ribs are crushed, and then my organs, my heart and liver and stomach....

Jonah's breath came fast and shallow. I reached for his hand. He turned his face to me, his eyes wide with panic. Two frozen ponds. A boy screamed and pounded on the surface, trapped under the ice. Panicking. Trying to break through. But his screams faded, his fists flailed, and he slipped away into the dark. The boy was gone. Nothing left but the ice, clear and smooth enough to skate on.

I missed him desperately, even though he'd said he hated me, even though his anger—the rampage at his house, the X through his yearbook page, the cruel way he withdrew from everyone—scared me. I didn't care if he wasn't my boyfriend, or even my friend. He was my Jonah. I felt more alone without him now than I'd ever felt before I met him. My life had a hole in it.

Americans have dissipated their racial energy in an orgy of stone-breaking. In their few years they have broken more stones than did centuries of Egyptians, and they have done their work hysterically, desperately, almost as if they knew that the stones would some day break them.

I can't. Stop...don't go anywhere...don't leave me.

Give them back! Give my tears back, right now——with interest!!

My heart faltered, overcome by its frightened, almost frenzied beating because of something I had just lost, or was on the point of losing for ever. My fingers grasped at his hand with such violence that no force in the world, no matter how great, could take it away from me.

I was on the point of losing, or had just lost, for ever. My fingers held on to her hand with such violence that no force on earth, no matter how great, could tear it away from me.