Quotes About Despair

How are we affected by an absence of love? Why should being ignored drive us to a rage and impotent despair beside which torture itself would be a relief?- The Importance of Love

What we colloquially call 'feeling bored' is just the mind, acting out of a self-preserving reflex, ejecting information it has despaired of knowing where to place.

Tekka shrugged—an old man's shrug, slow and full of meaning. "I've traveled too far and seen too much to ignore the collective anguish that threatens to drown the galaxy in a flood of dark despair. Something must be done; whatever the cost, whatever the danger. Without the Jedi, there can be no balance in the Force, and all will be given over to the dark side.

You are…you are…" The merchant tried to control himself. "You have nothing. You are nothing!

We are afflicted with a darkness of the soul and fall in love with our pain.

It was all a big joke. I could see that now. There was no rhyme or reason to whether we lived or died. One day it might be the man next to you at roll call who is torn apart by dogs. The next day it might be you who is shot through the head. You could play the game perfectly and still lose, so why bother playing at all?

Roschach's Journal: October 12th, 1985 Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout Save us!... and I'll look down and whisper No.

I sat on the bed. I looked at the Rorschach blot. I tried to make it look like a spreading tree, shadows pooled beneath it, but it didn't. It looked more like a dead cat I once found, the fat, glistening grubs writhing blindly, squirming over each other, frantically tunneling away from the light. But even that isn't the real horror. The horror is this: in the end, it is simply a picture of empty meaningless blackness.

The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout 'SAVE US!'...and I'll look down and whisper 'No.

They claim their labours are to build a heaven yet their heaven is populated with horrors. Perhaps the world is not made. Perhaps nothing is made. A clock without a craftsman. It's too late. Always has been, always will be…too late.

This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?

My point is, I went crazy. When I saw what a black, awful joke the world was. I went crazy as a coot! I admit it! Why can't you?

Finally, faced with horrors both intolerable and unavoidable, I chose madness.

That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day.

Truly, life is hell and death's rough hand our only deliverance.

There's sex and death and human grime in monochrome for one thin dime, and at least all the trains run on time but they don't go anywhere.

The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.

Deep down the fear of a man who lives in a world not made for him, whose own world is slipping away, dying, being destroyed, beyond any recall.

And that next day, he was in the black mood, what we call the swartgalligheid, which is the black gall. And the heart is black too, and the world is black, and one can tell oneself that it will pass, but these are only words that one speaks to oneself, for while it is there it is no comfort that it will pass.

Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end. The sun pours down on the earth, on the lovely land that man cannot enjoy. He knows only the fear of his heart.

se vio sin ella, y esa figura huérfana, como saqueada, lo heló de espanto. Acababa de ver lo que queda de un hombre cuando a todo lo que es, a todo lo que cree ser, se le resta la mujer que ama.»

I know me, Valkyrie. If I were to lose you in the way that he lost you, if I were to live in a world ruled by the Faceless Ones with no hope of fighting back, no hope of effecting change, no hope of anything … If I go dark a second time, I stay dark. I know that in my soul.

There are times, I don't know if they come to everyone, when I feel that the future is beyond my strength: too much horror to deal with and no help to turn to.

Bred in the doctrine of self-help, individual Canadians seemed tragically willing to accept responsibility for their plight. Some literally died rather than accept relief. Slowly guilt turn to despair and then, as the depth and duration of the Depression exceeded every memory, to deep but unfocused resentment.