Quotes About Despair

May fell onto her back, watching the zipping stars, which tonight were covered lightly in clouds, and feeling the darkest despair.

How many times must hope die before tears were too deep to bear?

This party is turning out to be the turd-encrusted cherry on the top of my shit-shake of a day.

Everything beautiful has a dark side, and some of us must dwell there, so that others can laugh in the light.

Hope may have a positive reputation, but it has a vicious downside. If you have hope, you can be crushed.

she felt tangled in a net of grief. Her father was dead, and her mother had turned her away. My soulmate would save me, she thought. He would see me, and I would feel more solid. But this brought a fresh sadness, because if she ever did meet this man, he would never have known her father. Sylvie studied the ceiling for most of the night. She felt tears deep inside her, but they couldn't seem to find a way out. She still hadn't cried.

he didn't understand, but as the clock hand labored from one minute to the next, he wished that he were gone too. Off the basketball court, he had no usefulness. No

No matter how many minutes remained on the clock, there was no chance of victory.

Disillusionment [is] one of the deepest of human wounds.

Her voice had a thin thread of sadness running through it that made the song important, that made it tell a story that wasn't in the words – a story of despair, of loneliness, of frustration. It was a story that all of them knew by heart and had always known because they had learned it soon after they were born and would go on adding to it until the day they died.

There was something inexpressibly dreary about the Casino when it was empty, she thought. You could see all of it for what it was worth, and it was never good to see anything like that.

She was tranquil, but it was with the quietness of exhausted grief, not of resignation; and she looked back upon the past, and awaited the future, with a kind of out-breathed despair.

No existence is more contemptible than that, which is embittered by fear.

The loved idea of Angelo still rose upon my fancy, and its powers of captivation, heightened by absence, and, perhaps even by despair, pursued me with incessant grief. I concealed in silence the anguish that preyed upon my heart, and resigned myself a willing victim

We are all carousers and loose women here; How unhappy we are together!

All's taken away: my love and my power. The body, thrown into city it hates, Finds no joy in the sunlight. With every hour The blood grows colder in my veins.

I've ceased to smile long ago, The bitter winds now chill my lips, Another hope was just let go, Another song was added since. Against my will, I'll cede this song To people's laughter and offense, Because love's silence for the soul Is too unbearably immense.

The Last Toast I drink to our demolished hose, to all this wickedness, to you, our loneliness together, I raise my glass - And to the dead-cold eyes, the lie that has betrayed us, the coarse, brutal world, the fact that God has not saved us. 1934

Place down the poison right before me To take my voice out of my chest And wash away my shameful glory Into the gleaming nothingness.

And so the decades file by, torture, Deportations, executions. Sing — You see... I can't

She meant depressions, for da had had them: big, massive, scudding, whopping, black-cloud, infectious, crow, raven, jackdaw, coffin-upon-coffin, catacomb-upon-catacomb, skeletons-upon-skulls-upon-bones crawling along the ground to the grave type of depressions.

She shook her head. "No, Jonas." " 'No, Jonas' is all you ever say," he responded with a hint of savagery. He knew he was unfair, but he was just so damned miserable. Her smile wavered into a warmth that calmed his anger. "Not always." He shut his eyes as the memory of wild nights overpowered him. Good God, at this rate, he'd be bawling like a motherless calf.

And I'd started thinking about my mother's last weeks--the way she'd drifted listlessly about the house in her dressing gown, cigarettes in one hand, glass of something strong-smelling in the other.

We who are in the arts are at the risk of being in a popularity contest rather than a profession. If that fact causes you despair . . . pick another profession. Your desire to communicate must be bigger than your relationship with the chaotic and unfair realities . . . We have to create our own standards of discipline.