Quotes About Desolation

The gloomy and desolate old house, deserted of life, and with awful Death sitting sternly in its solitude, was the emblem of many a human heart, which, nevertheless, is compelled to hear the thrill and echo of the world's gayety around it.

The road grew wilder and drearier and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leaving him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mortal man to evil.

I don't know how best to explain how I felt at that moment. Perhaps, for the first time, it was the sadness of knowing that the world had no place for me.

He's become like that briefcase in the ground-full of gems yet void of light, so nothing sparkles, nothing shines.

And you know the darkness beyond despair, just as intimately as you know the soaring heights. Because in this and all universes, there is balance. You can't have the one without facing the other. And sometimes you think you can take it because the joy is worth the despair, and sometimes you know you can't take it and how did you ever think you could? And there is the dance; strength and weakness, confidence and desolation.

He's become like that briefcase in the ground—full of gems yet void of light, so nothing sparkles, nothing shines.

The building was no warmer than the street outside, and it smelled like something died in there from smelling something else that died in there.

Elin bayg?n göÄŸsümde geziyor; aray???n BoÅŸ, sevgilim, oras? yaÄŸmalanm?? bir yerdi Y?rt?c? diÅŸleri, t?rnaklar?yla kad?n?n. Aramay?n yüreÄŸimi art?k; hayvanlar yedi. YüreÄŸim y?k?k bir saray kalabal?klar?ndan; Ä°çmeler, adam öldürmeler, kavgalar dolu! - Bir korku yüzüyor ç?plak göÄŸsünüzü saran!..

Que reste-t-il ? C'est affreux, ô mon âme ! Rien qu'un dessin fort pâle, aux trois crayons

Naista ei ole olemassa. Likainen valkovuodon löyhkä. Ja koska hän ei ole tottunut hellyyteen, hän ei osaa miellyttää. Sitä hän ei tee koskaan.

my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.

I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.

There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock. People so tired, mutilated either by love or no love

it's colder than hell (yes) but the blankets are thin, and the pulled-down shades are as full of holes as love is.

all people start to come apart finally and there it is: just empty ashtrays in a room or wisps of hair on a comb in the dissolving moonlight.

What a pitiful mass of dangerous nothing

my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.

and now as we ready to self-destruct there is very little left to kill which makes the tragedy less and more much much more.

I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead: men without eyes, men without voices; men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions; men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideals.

No life anywhere, no life in this town or this place or in this weary existence

we forget the terror of one person aching in one room alone unkissed untouched cut off watering a plant alone without a telephone that would never ring anyway.

and gamblers are dry and empty souls, their hearts have been sucked dry, there's no music in their walk, they are colorless and condemned.

It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When she came back we didn't sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.

The old gal was only another lonely creature in a world that didn't care