Quotes About Desperation

...don't you realize a flawless profile means nothing when a mere smile drives me to desperation? Don't you covet that power?..

Life in the state of nature is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

It's a funny thing, the less people have to live for, the less nerve they have to risk losing nothing.

Michael Herr, the most brilliant reporter of the Vietnam War, captures the same frenzy in the voice of one American soldier he met: "We'd rip out the hedges and burn the hooches and blow all the wells and kill every chicken, pig and cow in the whole fucking ville. I mean, if we can't shoot these people, what the fuck are we doing here?" When

And then again, maybe it was some weird noise in my brother's head, some little digital murmur he never told anyone about. I've heard about that – how you wake up one day and there's like this permanent dial tone droning somewhere behind the meat in your head, a little Dustbuster trapped where the brain saves you from going crazy. After a while you wind up ending it all just to make things quiet again.

The curse of immaturity," he said, "is that the more immature you are the more desperate you are to impress others. An' the less likely you are to do the right thing, the thing that's gonna impress 'em. So you get the teen who likes to rev his engine, drive too fast, all to show what a capable and heroic adult he is. An' all the adults he passes shake their heads an' think, 'What an idiot kid.

Are we going to do this?" "We have to." "We don't have to. We could go to the police." "They'll kill her if we go to the police. The woman who has her is a monster. I heard it in her voice. We're the worst parents in America. You know those people who overdose in the front seats of their cars? We're dumber than that.

Every medicine is vain.

That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother's palm and fingertips, he was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I'd always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph's part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air.

I started tearing at my mouth. Get it out! I roared.

Feeling lost, crazy and desperate belongs to a good life as much as optimism, certainty and reason.

but by the time Dr. Fennel arrived in a mad rush, Kenji was no longer breathing.

Probably, an increasingly desperate Bala-Tik thought as he let off yet another ineffectual blast, Solo had done it by talking all of them into a state of complete insensibility.

was certain: His former colleagues would not understand, no matter how hard he tried to explain. No one fled the First Order and lived. The sand sucked at his feet as he stumbled toward the rising smoke. "Poe! Say something if you can hear me! Poe!" He did not expect a response, but he hoped for one. Flame had joined smoke

If she let go or otherwise lost her grip, of course, it would solve all her problems. Permanently.

Rey scarcely glanced in the other vessel's direction. "That one's garbage! We need something that'll move, not just get off the ground—if we're lucky!

You've been so lonely, he murmured as he searched for what he needed. So afraid to leave. A thin smile crossed his face. At night, desperate to sleep, you'd imagine an ocean. I can see it . . . I can see the island.

She needed him. And he was nowhere to be found. There was no else she could rely on. No one like her brother. No one else at all.

Where the two times meet, desperation. Where the two times go their separate ways, contentment. For, miraculously, a barrister, a nurse, a baker can make a world in either time, but not in both times. Each time is true, but the truths are not the same.

In this world, there are two times. There is mechanical time and there is body time....Where the two times meet, desperation. Where the two times go their separate ways, contentment. For, miraculously, a barrister, a nurse, a baker can make a world in either time, but not in both times. Each time is true, but the truths are not the same.

And I'm thinking about the old man. He'll be pounding on the glass right about now... or maybe not now. Maybe in a while. But he'll be pounding and... will there be blood? I like to imagine so. Yes, I rather think there will be blood. Lots of blood. Blood in extraordinary quantities.

Who did it? Tell me who did it, you slime! Who murdered Hollis? You tell them! You tell them they're dead! You know how much firepower I have floating out there? I oughtta take out this entire rat-hole neighborhood! I oughtta. . . oughtta break your neck, you. . . you. . . Oh god damn. God damn. God damn. God damn!

All roads lead to Johannesburg. If you are white or if you are black they lead to Johannesburg. If the crops fail, there is work in Johannesburg. If there are taxes to be paid, there is work in Johannesburg. If the farm is too small to be divided further, some must go to Johannesburg. If there is a child to be born that must be delivered in secret, it can be delivered in Johannesburg.

I have taken a terrible beating from the truth and feel tamed, wise and desperate, as if I had taken a short route to wisdom through a mirror, and cut myself badly on it as I passed through.