Quotes About Desolation

This house, which seemed somehow to have formed itself, flying together into its own powerful pattern under the hands of its builders, fitting itself into its own construction of lines and angles, reared its great head back against the sky without concession to humanity. It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people or for love or for hope.

It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people or for love or for hope.

When the chicken fat runs out, all that's left is an empty hole.

There was still the dirty snow, piles of it that looked like they were rotting, stained black, peppered with garbage. The white powder that loosed itself from the sky in small handfuls, like plaster falling from a ceiling, never managed to cover up the filth.

Ver cambiar el mundo es a la vez milagroso y desolador

GUARDIA ...dopo molto tempo, vediamo lei, Antigone, che lancia un grido acuto, come di uccello angosciato alla vista del nido deserto.»

The Magistrate suffered from the disability of a free-thinking turn of mind and from a life that was barren and dreary to match.

Alone.Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.

I don't see how anyone can find happiness in this world.

There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.

in that cold autistic dark.

In the grueling light that passed for day...

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peaceAnd rest can never dwell, hope never comesThat comes to all.

The seat of desolation, void of light.

God revealed this to Ezekiel as to the coalition of invading nations: "After many days you will be called to arms. In future years you will invade a land that has recovered from war, whose people were gathered from many nations to the mountains of Israel, which had long been desolate. They had been brought out from the nations, and now all of them live in safety." (Ezekiel 38:8).

Against a wall a faded blonde woman—an exiled angel, the hints of beauty still lingering on her palewhite face—sits with blackoutlined eyes burning into the bar.

You can rot here without feeling it.

The terrible dark, where nothing, not even time itself, existed.

We all love after-the-bomb stories. If we didn't, why would there be so many of them? There's something attractive about all those people being gone, about wandering in a depopulated world, scrounging cans of Campbell's pork and beans, defending one's family from marauders. But some secret part of us thinks it would be good to survive. All those other folks will die. That's what after-the-bomb stories are all about.

He was drained of feeling, and he felt very old and tired.

Most of the villages showed empty streets, and the countryside around them was as deserted as if the whole human race and most of its animals had been spirited away. Until we came to Steeple Honey.

Men are not forced to turn their desolation to advantage as women are. It's easier for them to dissipate their passion, quell their restlessness in other ways.

Loneliness is an empty space, a hole that cannot be filled. Loneliness is the weather side of the quarterdeck and a vacant captain's cabin. It's the sea when I can't look at it through your eyes. It's the wind when I can't hear it with your ears. It's salt when I can't taste it on your lips.