Quotes About Desolation

The good Samaritan, he's getting dressed, he's getting ready for the show. He's going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row.

I'm with a crowd but oh so alone.

The dreariest spot in all the land to Death they set apart; with scanty grace from Nature's hand, and none from that of Art.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

And in the parking lot, far from where she lay

nobody in the entire world will ever say anything to me again.

There was nowhere to sit except the bunk, which was covered with rotting food, and a wooden stool, upon which sat a large fur-covered lump—an old cheese, perhaps, or a dead cat.

Through the smal tall bathroom window the December yard is gray and scratchy, the trees calligraphic.

The place smelled of mildew and rot. What

À l'intérieur, il se sentait un creux immense et douloureux, comme s'il avait eu le cÅ"ur pris dans un étau de glace. Rien ne semblait pouvoir bouger en lui, au risque de briser quelque chose de chancelant, de précaire.

The really desolate areas can get pretty crowded, of course, sometimes, so it's good to get there early, get as much wandering as you can in before noon.

The far north of Manitoba. Forbidding wastelands. The center of nothing.

Hal says, 'In a nutshell, what we're talking about here is loneliness.

In a patch of silver the Rev. Carlisle stopped and raised his face to the full moon, where it hung desolately, agonizingly bright - a dead thing, watching the dying earth.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

Bad is the world, and all will come to naught when such ill-dealing must be seen in thought.

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold. Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with!

How shall I abide In this dull world, which in thy absence is No better than a sty?

My desolation does begin to make a better life.

I had now reached that phase of the disorder where all sense of hope had vanished, along with the idea of a futurity; my brain, in thrall to its outlaw hormones, had become less an organ of thought than an instrument registering, minute by minute, varying degrees of its own suffering.

I suddenly encountered the face of loneliness, and decided that it was a merciless and ugly face indeed.

I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.

The earth is black in front of the cliff, and no orchids grow. Creepers crawl in the brown mud by the path. Where did the birds of yesterday fly? To what other mountain did the animals go? Leopards and pythons dislike this ruined spot; Cranes and snakes avoid the desolation. My criminal thoughts of those days past Brought on the disaster of today.

T]o be a castaway is to be caught up in grim and exhausting opposites.