Quotes About Desperation

Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,To cry, "Hold, hold!"

I am in bloodStepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

all on my own up on some roof with no options, no choices, just boxed in on every side between different things that I don't want - that nobody would want.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

Out here we go hungry sometimes. There we would beg, humiliate ourselves, get robbed, and then starve. Now

Her belly ruptures full of parasites, Her eyes sink back in her skull Her butchered wrists, dangle From the edge of the bathtub Her children cuddle against her Desperate for love she cannot give

Tutto era razionato: zucchero, sapone, olio, e soprattutto il sale in zucca, ché di quello ce n'era davvero poco. Perché quando che hai fame, e questo chissà se tu lo puoi capire da là dove stai, la testa non funziona più come prima, s'incaglia, ché non ti consola nemmeno avercela ancora sul collo, se non te ne fai più niente.

The door that would not open no matter how hard you pushed, no matter how long you pounded on it. The screams no one heard. Darkness, hunger, pain. Slow suffocation. One day it occurred to me that I needed to experience the same suffering he had.

And yet we were very much alike; we'd lost our souls, and we were ready to destroy others.

An isolated person is doomed beyond remedy." Yasmina Khadra, Swallows of Kabul

Tous les matins, de plus en plus de gens viennent convoquer les divinités qu'ils ont eux-mêmes créées de toutes pièces entre une hallucination opiacée et une démence suicidaire.

It wasnt fair.. 3 days away from the beginning of the harvest, 2 days away from salvation, a breath away from redemption.

People are not embracing Communism as Communism, but they are discontented, insecure and unsettled and they embrace anything that looks like it might be better than what they have to endure. . . . It is very easy for anybody who has a job and is getting along all right to cry for democracy . . . but if you cannot feed your children and you do not know where the next meal is coming from, nobody knows what kind of freak you will follow."13

The undernurtured young adult simply cannot afford to recognize that the parents he relies on are incapable of offering the support that he desperately needs.

You waited in the same piss for your Pete to show. He didn't so you went inside and cremated your mother. Stood alone at the front and bit the inside of your cheek until the blood wouldn't stop and the tears finally came.

Ten grand in your pocket. But it won't last. Not at this rate. Jobless and boozing. Fat and fucked. Not unless Peter says yes- Peter Taylor. The only friend you've ever had. Peter Taylor.

A few monkeys and parrots were loose on the wreck, clambering hysterically toward nowhere. He saw several animals disappear into the flames.

You're going to re-enact all your star idols' peak moments when you desperately ached to be there in the middle of the action.

Nic begins writing hard, a word, I, two words, am, three words, sorry, writes them again, writes them again, writes them again, writes them again. He cannot, it seems, stop writing them. It is bullshit, a cheap attempt at - it is not bullshit, he is trying with excruciating desperation, which I can feel coming from him, to say something, to get out something that he cannot get out. It's easy to forget that no matter how hard it is for us, it is harder for him.

I pray even as the news in the papers makes my prayer seem insignificant in scale and wholly selfish. There is a devastating hurricane and flooding and suicide bombers and crashes and tsunamis and terrorism and cancer and war—endless and brutal war—disease and famine and earthquakes and everywhere there is addiction, and today the heavens must be overwhelmed with the noise of all the prayers. Here is one more. Please God heal Nic. Please God heal Nic. The

There was always a dark shadow around the San Francisco rainbow. From the very beginning, violence, desperation, and fear stalked the streets of the Haight, side by side with the euphoria. "When I hear about the Summer of Love, I say, 'Where was that?'" remarked Lewis. "It was there, but always lurking below was this seething hatred and fear from Vietnam and the Cold War. There was always this feeling that we were going to die.

But then we always knew heaven would be a desperate place. Everything you desired coming in one fearful moment to greet you.

There is no one quite as angry as someone who has just lost a lot of money.

The English language needs a word for that feeling you get when you badly need help, but there is no one you can call because you're not popular enough to have friends, not rich enough to have employees, and not powerful enough to have lackeys. It is a very distinct cocktail of impotence, loneliness and a sudden stark assessment of your non-worth to society? Enturdment?