Quotes About Desolation

The dreariest spot in all the land to Death they set apart; with scanty grace from Nature's hand, and none from that of Art.

she looked like Vivien, the Lady of the Lake, only she was fat and her lake was dust, sand and dust, bones and dust and sand.

There is no friendship in the desert, there is no love. The Sahara only knows allies and accomplices. [Hopkins quoting B. Gysin's The Process]

Sadder than a ticking clock, the moments without you

Er setzte sich auf ein fadenscheiniges Sofa.

O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,Alone and palely loitering?The sedge has withered from the lake,And no birds sing!

My life is a rather grim one. One day I shall perhaps describe it to you in great detail.

I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.

To give your life is one thing; to do it for a gesture is another; but to do it for a gesture you know is meaningless is a desolate trick of fate.

I can't describe the feeling when I go down – it's down down down and there's never going to be an up again. And whatever was good isn't good any more; white becomes grey, music becomes dictionaries, honey becomes beer and the sky a curdled lemon. There's no caramel anymore.

I felt even more hollow than I had.

There was the sense of something having been ripped from me; that heartbroken punch of loss without any memories to explain where it was coming from.

Following a voice that sings only for his ears, the wolf steps from the cold emptiness of a dead world into the bustling street of one that is merely dying fast.

I shook my head, cold air seeping through the holes in my ragged gown and my plait moving like a serpent against my spine.

Not even a dive bar in sight, just a long dingy curve of corridor with fibrous gray carpeting institutionalizing it further.

To the sagging wharf few ships could come. The population numbered two giants, an idiot, a dwarf.

The place gave out a look of hollow desuetude, as though its desertion would last forever.

I wish I could tell you how lonely I am. How cold and harsh it is here. Everywhere there is conflict and unkindness. I think God has forsaken this place. I believe I have seen hell and it's white, it's snow-white.

It might be well enough to wander if you've a place and people to come back to, but I tell you now there's no desolation like wanting to go home and truly not knowing where it is.

The ground and the air were as nothing to her, for all her life had been plucked out and there was nothing left but the knowledge that it had been taken away.

I have ceased to care about anything. I have no personal ambition, or even the desire that people call me nice, or pretty, or witty. Nor do I have any use for sensation, nor do I care. Cessation. It is a technical circle, encircling, cycle, of giving the body to be burned, but having no charity. ... What can I do? For without love I am truly dead.

The desolation of winter sustains our frail hopes. Nature is kindest then; she does not taunt us with fruition. It is the luxury of summer which tantalizes—her long, brilliant, blossoming days, her dewy, radiant nights.

felt a sense of dismalness.

The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.