Quotes About Desolation

Trópico se vistió de luto un día, fango tomó color de sangre seca, niebla en neblina erré, la mente hueca, gris en el corazón, alma vacía

A dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.'" "But why not employ them?" said Rose, who was not learned in Byron; "you have a home." "Such as it is." "And relations.

Los Angeles is like a beauty parlor at the end of the universe.

I was crying for having been left behind in the night, paralyzed by loneliness.

Day had turned to night, and night was passing in the same way all around the world. Now I felt really alone, at the bottom of a deep loneliness that no one could touch.

But war was a world with no home, no roof, no comforts. A miserable journey, of endless drifting. War was a world without real men, without real women, without feeling.

Then I sped across the prairies of ether and stood upon the moon. It was no longer luminous, its hardness hurt my feet; And I found that it had nothing either to sell or give me; Its empty frankness was brutal as a blow.

There are horrors out here—far worse than the horrors on earth.

Hell is being alone.

Eleanor Rigby Died in the church and was buried along with her name Nobody came Father McKenzie Wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave No one was saved

Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate; all that was once so beautiful is dead.

He felt as though he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable

Even through the shut window pane, the world looked cold.

He was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable.

He was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable. What certainty had he that a single human creature now living was on his side?

Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.

Things will happen to you from which you could not recover, if you lived a thousand years. Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy, or integrity. You will be hollow.

In this place you could not feel anything, except pain and foreknowledge of pain.

The rat had never come back, but the bugs had multiplied hideously in the heat. It did not seem to matter. Dirty or clean, the room was paradise.

It struck him that the truly characteristic thing about modern life was not its cruelty and insecurity, but simply its bareness, its dinginess, its listlessness. Life

Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, as though the place had just been visited by some large violent animal.

It struck him that the truly characteristic thing about modern life was not its cruelty and insecurity, but simply it's bareness, it's dinginess, it's listlessness.

The reality was decaying, dingy cities, where underfed people shuffled to and fro in leaky shoes, in patched-up nineteenth-century houses

There was no moon.