Quotes About Hopelessness

Man after the second half of the twentieth century is frustrated. You know that the foundation of all subversiveness is laid on frustration and this frustration keeps finding ways to subversive activities. And you also know that an uncert...ain present has made man pessimistic about future... therefore he runs after anything that glitters, be it fire

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.

You're riding a runaway train into a tunnel that leads into a station where there's a welcome-home party from all your worst nightmares

When Pelitas had died, he had wept, but there were no more tears in him for the others. He had no more lies for them, no more speeches. The grand lie had been that there was anything to fight for at all.

Alberta was back again. Back to it all, to all that was warped and desultory, to the lies and evasions and small, hidden irons in the fire, to humiliation and hopeless longing, to the grey road of uniform days. To live in spite of it, to live on as best she could, with her two warring natures: one that willed, no-one knew how far - one that could let itself be bound any time and anywhere. To live and lie and listen her way forward, to seek haphazardly in her tomes, to wait and see...

Donuk ve yavan oldu?u halde, ayn? olan? yeniden üretmeye s?rt?n? dayam?? bir ülkeden daha ümit k?r?c? ne vard?r?

He looked up at the heavy smoke palls over the city and repeated softly to himself, "It's all for nothing. All for nothing."*

Human beings shouldn't have to enter such doors, shouldn't have to stay behind them. No moon ever entered there, no stars, no anything at all. They were worse than the grave, for in the grave is an absence of consciousness. And God, she reflected, ordered the grave for all of us; but God didn't order such burrows in a third-class New York City Hotel.

Kad nusinuodytum žiurknuodžiais, reikia prarasti bet koki? vilt? ir drauge visiškai pasiduoti savo mintims, tada jos užstoja vis? pasaul? ir žmogus ni?nieko neberegi, išskyrus savo likim?.

They were all unhappy but I could do nothing to help them. Nobody could help them. Perhaps the worst part of it was their unkindness to one another—yes, that was the worst. I had never before met people like this: people who were bitter and unkind and hopeless, people who had no happiness in life nor any expectation of happiness

Donald Trump has a mantra of despair, of loss. He says we don't have victories anymore. We used to have victories, but we don't. And he says the American dream is dead.

South Vietnam faces total defeat, and soon.

Dressed in her white gown, with only a light sheet to cover her legs, she looked as small as a child as she lay alone in her bed. She was dying, Zachary thought numbly, and he could not seem to think of what would happen afterward. For him there would be no hopes, no expectations, no future pleasure or happiness, as if his own life would end when hers did.

My heart is empty & my life has no value anymore. Each moment a thousand tears.

Gubim je, pomislio je i ruka mu je nagonski krenula da je dosegne i povu?e je natrag. Ali umjesto toga je posegnuo za loncem za kavu. Napunio je sebi šalicu i bespomo?no zurio u tamnu teku?inu i u njoj vidio svoju crnu budu?nost jer joj nije bio u stanju dati ono što je željela.

Suicides do not end their lives because they are weak, mentally ill, or depressed - though certainly they may be all those things. They are in blinding, all-consuming psychic pain, and perhaps on that final poisonous day they can find no reason not to.

Grief doesn't feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under her. There is no rug. There is no floor on which to lay a rug. There is no ground on which to build a floor to lay a rug.

Maybe he should kill himself and put them all out of their misery.

Regardless of the cause of depression, one factor remains constant: depression always centers on death and pain.

Wait. You don't understand. I just wanted it to stop. Wanted the hurting to stop. I smoothed a bloodied lock of hair from her eyes and felt very tired as I said, The only people who never hurt are dead. The light died out of her eyes, her breath slowing. She whispered, barely audible, I don't understand. I answered, I don't either. A tear slid from her eye and mixed with the blood. Then she died.

Have you ever felt despair, absolute hopelessness? Have you ever stood in the darkness and known deep in your heart, in your spirit, that it was never, ever going to get better? That something had been lost forever and that it wasn't coming back?

The hour when you sit up in bed, sweating from nightmares. The hour when you awaken for no reason but to fear the future. The hour when you stare at the clock, willing yourself to sleep, knowing it isn't going to happen, and weariness and despair beat upon the doors to the vaults of your mind with leaden clubs.

I have this sense of being a prematurely old man in a quarrel with himself over the worth of his life, a hopelessly bullshit notion.

Sometimes survival is the worst alternative there is