Quotes About Desolation

Love was to blame for this. Because when love ends, the cold is what you're left with. It was all I needed to feel.

His blank face communicated an emptiness that could never be filled - Frank Balenger

Sorrow and desolation have their songs," wrote Douglass, "as well as joy and peace. Slaves sing more to make themselves happy, than to express their happiness.

All the verdant growth had been left behind them to the south. Up ahead, the roads dissected what looked like a vast wasteland. Far in the distance rose a lone hill, upon which a Roman fortress held its place like a stone buzzard. The desert plain seemed to go on forever. And over it all, the wind moaned.

The illumination that came from the ceiling made everything gloomy and gave me the feeling of having been forgotten by the world.

wild men in wild places, fighting cold, heat, starvation, thirst, barrenness, facing the elements in all their ferocity, usually retrograded, descended to the savage, lost all heart and soul and became mere brutes.

Nothing is so desolate as a place where life has been and gone.

Tea Cake went out and wandered around. Saw the hand of horror on everything. Houses without roofs, and roofs without houses. Steel and stone all crushed and crumbled like wood. The mother of malice had trifled with men.

Nothing could be more forlorn than the manner in which Madame Vauthier had furnished the two rooms. It seemed as though the woman let rooms with the express purpose that no one should stay in them. Evidently the bed, chairs, tables, bureau, secretary, curtains, came from forced sales at auction, articles massed together in lots as having no separate intrinsic value.

The cold Camellia only, stiff and white, Rose without perfume, lily without grace, When chilling winter shows his icy face, Blooms for a world that vainly seeks delight.

Pero al verla otra vez, a veinte metros de mí, mirándome, sentí que en mi alma, dormida en paz, surgía sangrando la desolación de haberla perdido, como si no hubiera pasado un solo día de esos diez años.

I have become a gate To the ruined city, dry, / Indestructible by fire.

have they started work yet, go on, one teeny tiny peek. Rain and rust and ruin. Carpetgrass dead slime. That made her very sad.

Fifth Rule. The fifth: In time of desolation never to make a change; but to be firm and constant in the resolutions and determination in which one was the day preceding such desolation, or in the determination in which he was in the preceding consolation. Because, as in consolation it is rather the good spirit who guides and counsels us, so in desolation it is the bad, with whose counsels we cannot take a course to decide rightly.

Llamo desolación a la escuridad del ánima, turbación en ella, moción a las cosas bajas y terrenas, inquietud de varias agitaciones y tentaciones, moviendo a infidencia, sin esperanza, sin amor, hallándose toda perezosa, tibia, triste y como separada de su Criador y Señor.

here in a place as far from God as one can go and still freeze.

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.

No desolation equal to that of the pagan, suddenly bereft. For to the pagan, there is no hereafter.

He's dead, Walt. Like you always say, 'Buried in a shallow grave and shit off a cliff by a coyote.

As she stood there, she looked to the north where there seemed to be another road, but not really a road, more like a snowplow had suddenly gone rogue and wandered off to die alone and away from the herd.

My brain is a vast, barren, jokeless plain where wolves howl at the moon over rocky overhangs and the wind kicks up twists of sand and tumbleweed.

Y está triste como una silla abandonada en la mitad del patio azul Los pájaros la rodean Cae una aguja Las hojas resbalan sin tocarla Y está triste en mitad del patio con la mirada baja los pechos alicaídos dos palomas tardas Y un collar sin perro en la mano Como una silla ya vacía.

It seemed to Rosa Lublin that the whole peninsula of Florida was weighted down with regret. Everyone had left behind a real life. Here they had nothing. They were all scarecrows, blown about under the murdering sunball with empty ribcages.

Ned had a monotonous voice and he went on talking. He talked and talked and he made everything sound hopeless and depressing. I had felt miserable enough before, but when at last I managed to get rid of him I felt absolutely wretched. I finished my unpacking and then pulled back the heavy curtains. I expected to see the lights of London, pinpoints of light from lamp-posts which lined the streets and chinks of lights from the windows of neighbouring houses, but there was nothing to see at all. I