Quotes About Despair

What you must understand about me is that I'm a deeply unhappy person.

Where is my chance to be somebody's Peter Van Houten?' He hit the steering wheel weakly, the car honking as he cried. He leaned his head back, looking up. 'I hate myself I hate myself I hate this I hate this I disgust myself I hate it I hate it I hate it just let me fucking die.

So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawnWhich once he wore!The glory from his gray hairs goneForevermore!

She kept her eyes on Channing when she could; saw the wounded blankness of all who are ruined young.

The gray light was unforgiving, and the road in was a hard, fast slide to the bottom rung of the human experience.

All morning they watched for the plane which they thought would be looking for them. They cursed war in general and PTs in particular. At about ten o'clock the hulk heaved a moist sigh and turned turtle.

Campania is Italy's poorest region and in many respects its saddest.

La ausencia de sonido puede ser peor que cualquier grito

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,Where youth grows pale, and specter-thin, and dies;Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs.

I saw pale kings and princes too,Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;They cried—"La Belle Dame sans MerciHath thee in thrall!"

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk.

I refuse to "look up." Optimism nauseates me. It is perverse. Since man's fall, his proper position in the universe has been one of misery.

My life is a rather grim one. One day I shall perhaps describe it to you in great detail.

The only excursion of my life outside of New Orleans took me through the vortex to the whirlpool of despair: Baton Rouge. . . . New Orleans is, on the other hand, a comfortable metropolis which has a certain apathy and stagnation which I find inoffensive.

PIE?? MI?OSNA DLA ?MIERCI Przychodzisz do mnie znów, Nie zapominasz o mnie. Do ko?ca trwa agonia, A? p?kn? me okowy. Wci?? si? pojawiasz obca i daleka Jeste? ?ywa, ?mierci. Stoisz jak zimna gwiazda Nad moj? rozpacz?. Lecz potem si? przybli?asz, ca?a w p?omieniach. Przyjd?, kochanko, jestem tu. Zabierz mnie, jestem twój.

Heartbreak comes just when you think nothing worse can happen.

It wasn't overwhelmingly catastrophic he killed himself. Most people who mess about with heroin, they lose their souls way earlier, it's just waiting for the body to keel over.

I can't describe the feeling when I go down – it's down down down and there's never going to be an up again. And whatever was good isn't good any more; white becomes grey, music becomes dictionaries, honey becomes beer and the sky a curdled lemon. There's no caramel anymore.

I feel like I'm dropping such a long way down again." "I seem to be dropping into a cold dark wet place, where no one's been before and noone can every follow. There's no future there; just a past that sometimes fools you into thinking it's the future. It's the most alone place you can ever be and, when you go there, you not only cease to exist in real life, you also cease to exist in their consciousness and in their memories.

It,s hard not to be able. There, look there!/ I cannot get the movement nor the light;/Sometimes it almost makes a man despair/To try and try and never get it right./Oh, if I could -oh, if I only might,/I wouldn,t mind what hells I,d have to pass,/Not if the whole world called me fool and ass." Dauber (A poem). John Masefield. 1916. London William Heinemann

If we aim deliberately at the impoverishment of Central Europe, vengeance, I dare predict, will not limp. Nothing can then delay for very long that final civil war between the forces of Reaction and the despairing convulsions of Revolution, before which the horrors of the late German war will fade into nothing, and which will destroy, whoever is victor, the civilization and the progress of our generation.

But all life turns away from its own eventual hopelessness, leaving insomnia and its night to lovers and the dying.

She had thought it would descend over her like a fog, turning things fuzzy, coloring them gray. But depression was active, it paced back and forth wringing its hands.

I can't pretend to know what it feels like to lose a child, but I assume it's the worst pain I've ever felt times a thousand, or times a hundred thousand.