Quotes About Desolation

How terrible to be surrounded by the stark sharp hollowness of things that simply were enough.

O consolo trazido pelas garrafas e pelos livros se apagou num segundo, não deixando em seu olhar nada além de vazio e dor.

Yo no amenazo a nadie —dije con aire inocente subiendo el tono de voz para que pudiera oírme quien me estuviera escuchando—. Solo cito una de mis obras literarias favoritas. Es del cuarto acto de Daeonica, donde Tarso dice: Sobre él verteré el hambre y el fuego hasta que la desolación lo aturda y todos los demonios de la oscuridad exterior miren asombrados y reconozcan que la especialidad del hombre es la venganza.

Sur lui je ferai descendre la faim et le feu Jusqu'à ce qu'il connaisse L'abomination de la désolation. Et que tous les démons qui peuplent les ténèbres Comprennent enfin, avec stupeur, Que, sans répit, la vengeance Dévore le cœur de l'homme.

As I made my desolate way back to the stairs, my wise self took the opportunity to berate me. That is what comes of hope, it said. No good. Still, you are better having missed her. She could never have been equal to her voice. That voice, fair and terrible as burning silver, like moonlight on river stones, like a feather against your lips.

There is no joy!" Lanre shouted in an awful voice. Stones shattered at the sound and the sharp edges of echo came back to cut at them. "Any joy that grows here is quickly choked by weeds. I am not some monster who destroys out of a twisted pleasure. I sow salt because the choice is between weeds and nothing." Selitos saw nothing but emptiness behind his eyes.

Sus excrementos era todo lo que daba al mundo; ni una sonrisa, ni un grito, ni un destello en la mirada, ni siquiera el propio olor.

where there were angels I saw no one. nothing. not even space.

Will you take a picture? she said. I looked down at the bleak panorama and shook my head. How could I take a picture of nothing?

I have come to New York because it is the most forlorn of places, the most abject. The brokenness is everywhere, the disarray is universal. You have only to open your eyes to see it. The broken people, the broken things, the broken thoughts. The whole city is a junk heap.

spills of mire I swallowed inside the tower

No one rose to his defense. He not only suffered; he suffered alone. Even his Father turned his back on him in his deepest moment of agony.

The most terrifying thing I can think of is being alone - and I mean utterly alone, like no one else in the world alone - at night. That's the nucleus of the first story in my collection and it's also where the title came from for the book.

Sin alma o corazón.

chainlink fences topped with barbed wire, vacant lots covered with broken beer bottles, and Doberman pinschers with psychopathic personalities

Donc, allez, vagabonds sans trêves, Errez, funestes et maudits, Le long des gouffres et des grèves, Sous l'œil fermé des paradis !

One manor house remained unoccupied and unsold. It sat on a small rise, a menacing, ugly house, a barrow, deposited and deserted by some 1920's millionaire and left there to testify to the power of money to create a permanent and quarrelsome unloveliness.

Living in West Texas is sort of like living in Hell, but without the favorable climate and charming people.

In the center if the road, I saw a heavy black sewing machine on its side, as if it had crawled out onto the street to die.

In the center of the road, I saw a heavy black sewing machine on its side, as if it had crawled out onto the street to die.

Horton could tell instantly there was no one in the house, dead or alive. Death left a place much colder than this, you could smell it, taste it, and sense it. It crept up your flesh, quickened your breath, and sent your pulse racing to cope with the first shock of meeting it. But this house was empty, just a shell.

A dead dog is more quiet than a house on the steppes, a chair in a empty room.

Power, like a desolating pestilence,Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience,Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,Makes slaves of men, and, of the human frame,A mechanized automaton.

Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?