Quotes About Desperation

Or, paradoxically, they may swing to the other extreme and become overly trusting, feeling so desperate to find someone who cares for them that they may ignore warning signs and find themselves involved with people who will victimize them again.

I felt totally alone, I felt like an awful person, I felt really guilty and very overwhelmed because I was trying to fix things I couldn't fix.

She wasn't at peace the way that artist painted her. She was leaning forward, and the rigidness of her spine showed the ache in her soul. She was a desperate woman with frailties just like her, temptations just liker her, a woman who had needs, a woman who loved almost to the point of there being no more her anymore, a woman who probably cried too much, just like her, a woman afraid, wanting to believe rather than believing...

She was a desperate woman with frailties just like her, temptations just like her, a woman who had needs, a woman who loved almost to the point of there being no more her anymore, a woman who probably cried too much, just like her, a woman afraid, wanting to believe rather than believing [...]

Grief is savage, like love. I think maybe it's the same thing as love? It's love that is trapped inside you, a bird that can't spread its wings so it flaps violently in protest until it's exhausted and broken and utterly without hope. No, grief is not sadness. It's love that is desperately, urgently lost, an intense longing that pools in your lungs and balls up in your throat, so that when you try to talk it just pours out of you like sludge.

Sometimes desperation can look a lot like bravery

the one who was lost. It was as if someone had pulled a dark hood over her face, spun her around until she was dizzy, then thrust her forward, to grope her way blindly through life, praying she would find something to hold on to.

Could soldiers read? Mr Norrell did not know. He turned with a look of desperate appeal to Childermass. Childermass shrugged.

At another time, or in another case, it might have excited my ridicule. But into what quackeries will not people rush for a last chance, where all accustomed means have failed, and the life of a beloved object is at stake?

You can't drown yourself that simply. All good suicides involve speed and irreversibility, because the body will always move to protect itself against the sicko mind trying to do it in.

I'd have to run away to New York and be a hooker and eat a pound of heroin and die.

He had lost his child; he knew how fast things could spin out of control. He knew a person could lose anything in half a heartbeat.

The truth was, I would rather be Lena, his killer, than Arlene, a girl so desperate-hungry she had wanted to be his victim.

Tammy said, "It's all just a matter of being exhausted with whatever's your normal. Over there, the Palestinians launch rockets and become suicide bombers—over here we just OD.

I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better I can not tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me.

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

estaba solo, y cuando la soledad nos importa somos capaces de cumplir todas las vilezas adecuadas para asegurarnos compañía, oídos y ojos que nos atiendan.

Il était seul, et quand la solitude nous préoccupe, on devient capable de faire n'importe quelle bassesse pour s'assurer une compagnie, une oreille et des yeux attentifs. Je parle d'eux, les autres, pas de moi.

Un mundo sin novelas es un mundo estancado, cuya visión de sí mismo se estanca, cuya identidad se estanca; en el caso de pueblos nuevos como lo eran los americanos, desesperados por saber quiénes eran y cual era su lugar en el mundo, esta carencia puede tener consecuencias dramáticas.

En el mundo existen millones de personas con talento que viven sus vidas en silenciosa desesperación, atrapados en oficios de mierda. ¿Por qué unos van en metro y otros en su avión privado? Es una cuestión de carácter. De querer realmente lo que deseamos

There was no air; only the dead, still night fired by the dog days of August. Not a breath. I had to suck in the same air I exhaled, cupping it in my hands before it escaped. I felt it, in and out, less each time…until it was so thin it slipped through my fingers forever. I mean, forever.

She looked so disappointed, so grieved and desperate that Clem longed to comfort her, only he couldn't think of thing to say that she hadn't heard a hundred times from Dad and Dr. Snow and Mrs. Mack: how things would get better in time, though no one knew how much time, and that life might be a little better for her and Jess once school began again.

Story of My Life absorbs all of Casanova's pent-up creativity from the day in 1789 he begins writing it as an act of desperation, 'the only remedy to keep from going mad or dying with grief'. Unable to break out of his Bohemian prison in the same way he once famously broke out of Venice's Leads, he escapes in the only way possible: by time-travelling through his past.

There have been times when I have deliberately tried to take my life... I think I must have been crying for some attention.