Quotes About Anxiety

We nonjoyous types suck energy and cheer from the joyous ones; we rely on them to buoy us with their good spirit and to cushion our agitation and anxiety. At the same time, because of a dark element in human nature, we're sometimes provoked to try to shake the enthusiastic, cheery folk out of their fog of illusion—to make them see that the play was stupid, the money was wasted, the meeting was pointless. Instead of shielding their joy, we blast it.

Surprisingly, stress doesn't necessarily make us likely to indulge in bad habits; when we're anxious or tired, we fall back on our habits, whether bad or good.

Research suggests that when we have conflicting goals, we don't manage ourselves well. We become anxious and paralyzed, and we often end up doing nothing.

Der Mensch hängt an dem Seinen, an sich selbst und dem Seinen, bis über den Tod hinaus und bangt davor, das Leben aus den Händen zu verlieren - dies Wirklichste von allem Wirklichen, dies Erbärmlichste von allem Erbärmlichen, dies Unendlichste von allem Unendlichen; bangt vor der Einsamkeit, auf der sein selbst beruht, die sein Selbst ist, bangt davor, ohne Mitmenschen ringsum zu sein - und vielleicht von Gott vergessen.

The more you approach infinity, the deeper you penetrate terror

Coming delights, like tropical beaches, send out their native enchantment over the vast spaces that precede them - a perfumed breeze that lulls and drugs you out of all anxiety as to what may yet await you below the horizon.

Then, the anxiety occasioned by her change of state, or perhaps a certain agitation caused by the presence of this man had sufficed to make her believe herself possessed at last of that wonderful passion which hitherto had hovered above her like a great bird of rosy plumage in the splendor of a poetic heaven... But she could hardly persuade herself that the quietness of her present life was the happiness of her dreams.

L'angoisse de l'attente faisait désirer la venue de l'ennemi.

Now she was frightened, terribly frightened, and had a wild desire to run away, to ring, to call, but she dared not move, lest she might disturb his repose.

L'angoisse de l'attente fait désirer la venue de l'ennemi.

El verdadero miedo es como una reminiscencia de los terrores fantásticos de antaño. Un

July 6. I am going mad. Again all the contents of my water-bottle have been drunk during the night; or rather I have drunk it! But is it I? Is it I? Who could it be? Who? Oh! God! Am I going mad? Who will save me?

Olyan mélységes és olyan szomorú azoknak a szobáknak a csöndje, ahol egyedül él az ember. Nemcsak a testet, a lelket is körülfogja ez a csönd; amikor egy bútor megreccsen, szíve mélyéig megremeg az ember, mert semmi zajra nem volt elkészülve a komor lakásban.

Sometimes I feel entirely disassociated form what I do. It's a malady of the modern age.

No me importaba el futuro; huir, bien mediante curación, inconsciencia o muerte, era cuanto me importaba.

Something like fear chilled me as I sat there in the small hours alone-I say alone, for one who sits by a sleeper is indeed alone; perhaps more alone than he can realise.

La más antigua y poderosa emoción de la humanidad es el miedo, y la clase más antigua y poderosa de miedo es el temor a lo desconocido

Memories and possibilities are even more hideous than realities.

A wood at night, or even more at twilight, can be a strange place. Fear begins to come more quickly in a wood, with darkness and twilight, than in any other place I know.

Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness.

The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!

It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude.

I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more.

Chronophagos, the Devourer of Time, the Eater of Hours. What man remembereth even the hour of his death if the Chronophagos hath devoured it? —Nicephoros Attaliades, The Testament of Nightmares