Quotes About Desolation

Hay algo más triste en el mundo que un tren inmóvil en la lluvia?

Yaln?z bir yer, daha önce söz ettim bu yapayaln?z yerden, burada toprak okyanusla dolu, burada kimse yok, yaln?zca at izleri, kimse yok, yaln?zca rüzgar, kimse yok, yaln?zca denizin sular?na yaÄŸan yaÄŸmur, kimse yok, yaln?zca denizde artan yaÄŸmur.

Huye. Aléjate. Extínguete. Mi alma debe estar sola. Debe crucificarse, hacerse astillas, rodar, verterse, contaminarse sola, abierta a la marea de los llantos, ardiendo en el ciclón de las furias, erguida entre los cerros y los pájaros, aniquilarse, exterminarse sola, abandonada y única como un faro de espanto.

I am the one without hope, the word without echoes, he who lost everything and he who had everything.

Ik wachtte tot Hekabe zou spreken, maar ze zei niets. Misschien dat ze, oog in oog met dit uitzicht, woorden zo'n gedevalueerd ruilmiddel vond dat ze het als verloren moeite beschouwde ze nog te gebruiken.

I have been sadder than any man could be: for nothing in the world was made for me.

The music lived, but the world was dead. And the song would die one day, she thought, but how would the world come back to life? How would its salt come back?

en un embudo subterráneo de sufrimiento; un desolador paisaje de fuego, azufre, aguas residuales, monstruos y el mismísimo Satán en su centro. En

I pictured the sea as calm and motionless, no land to be seen in any direction. I have made a mistake, I thought. I need another chance. If I could only start over, I thought.

Goodsir rolled the corpse over while Fitzjames removed his jacket and beat out the flames rising from the dead man's face and hair. Harry Goodsir felt as if he were watching all this from a great distance. The professional part of his mind noticed with cool detachment that the furnace, as poorly banked as the low coal flames had been, had melted the man's eyes, burned away his nose and ears, and turned his face into the texture of an overbaked, bubbling raspberry flan.

God Almighty, I love life. Even this vile place, where the trees are shattered stubs and where nothing grows but craters, even the sights, scents, sounds, and stirrings of this place are preferable to the unchanging nothingness of the Great Darkness.

Francis Crozier believes in nothing. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. It has no plan, no point, no hidden mysteries that make up for the oh-so-obvious miseries and banalities. Nothing he has learned in the last six months has persuaded him otherwise. Has it?

Blood and brain tissue clung to the wet rock like the refuse of a sad picnic.

Does it depress you? To know just how alone you really are?

This world that I live in is empty and cold/the loneliness cuts me and tortures my soul.

I am as one who is left alone at a banquet, the lights dead and the flowers faded.

I am nothing. I'm like someone who's been thrown into the ocean at night, floating all alone. I reach out, but no one is there. I call out, but no one answers. I have no connection to anything.

Alone, Alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never saint took pity on My soul in agony

Loneliness is the universal problem of rich people.

I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from which someone has left you, but there is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for.

In mir wühlte eine Verlassenheit, wie Termiten in einem gefallenen Baumstamm.

Now begin Famines of thought and feeling.

It was cold and barren. It was no longer the view that I remembered. The sunshine of her presence was far from me. The charm of her voice no longer murmured in my ear.

Is there any wilderness of sand in the deserts of Arabia, is there any prospect of desolation among the ruins of Palestine, which can rival the repelling effect on the eye, and the depressing influence on the mind, of an English country town in the first stage of its existence, and in the transition state of its prosperity?