Quotes About Desolation

Sometimes I think that hell is two places: it's a place you end up, but it's also a place that you live before you get there. I don't know if the devil's got horns and a spear for a tail, but I don't think that's the point. The point is that hell is separate from love. If Lucifer knows anything, he knows that. And ever since Emma left, I'd known the same thing. It's a lonely, desolate place.

Man, or woman, is not made to be worshiped. We are not physically cut out for it. Life in the spotlight, on the pedestal, at the top of the world was a lonely, singular, desolate, soul-killing place.

The point is that hell is separate from love. If Lucifer knows anything, he knows that. And ever since Emma left, I'd known the same thing. It's a lonely, desolate place.

Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference.

I feel monotony and death to be almost the same.

Christ, he was empty, just a shell of himself. He had nothing to give, not even his seed.

I have been through the gates, I have groped, I have crept Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they are empty; darkness is over them; His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great winds and the heavenly rain, unclean and unswept, Like the heart of the holy city, old, blind, beautiful Jerusalem, Over which Christ wept.

Soon the bare but civilized streets of St. Paul gave way to emptier places with shorter buildings and fewer streetlights … and then no buildings, and no streetlights, and after a few turns I was urging the Nissan along a two-lane road in the middle of what could best be described as the geographic center of Godforsaken, Bumblefuck. The

A mountain that's had its very heart removed.

Z is like a motorcycle with no one on it. Beautiful. Going nowhere.

I have seen the dark universe yawning Where the black planets roll without aim, Where they roll in their horror unheeded, Without knowledge, or lustre, or name.

I only know that since he left, My life's so empty. Though I try to forget, It just can't be done.

On every side were stretched the bodies of men and animals apparently lifeless.

There were moments of a morning or at sunset when the plain was splendid as a tranquil sea, and in such moments I bowed down to its mysterious beauty--but for the most part it seemed an empty, desolate, mocking world.

He sat in his shirt on the edge of the bed and stared into vacancy, desolate. The cigarette ash fell unnoticed on his spotless floor, patterned with the stars, and sun, and moon.

Thus it seems that the Cross of Christ, laden with every sinful refusal of man, must stand at the very last extremity of hell; indeed, it must stand beyond hell, where the Son is forsaken by the Father in a way that only he can know.

Through the gate in the mountain comes the buran, the wind that destroys. Shepherds and the flocks of shepherds die at the cold touch of the buran. From the iron gate of the winds in the sky comes the buran, and where it breathes is desolation. Before the time of our fathers and their fathers and the memory of the oldest men there came through the gate of the mountain the Destroyer. Genghis Khan, the Destroyer, rode through the gateway of Mongolia and in his path there was desolation.

You are in no man's land. Which never moves, which never changes, which never grows older, but remains forever, icy and silent.

My friends have forgotten me, My dependents and maidservants respond to me as a stranger. Summon my servant but he does not respond Ã¢â'¬Â¦ My odor is repulsive to my wife, I am loathsome to my children. (19:15–17) He

Love: a burnt match skating in a urinal.

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.

Except in geographical scale, tribal warfare could be and often was total war in every modern sense. Like states and empires, smaller societies can make a desolation and call it peace. TERRITORIAL

For Beatrice, summer without you is as cold as winter. Winter without you, is even colder.