Quotes About Despair

You tell yourself it would be best for her to die. You tell yourself that if now, at this hour of the night, she died, it would be easier. For you, you probably mean, but you don't finish the sentence.

It's here we are at the heart of our common fate, the fact that all three of us are our mother's children, the children of a candid creature murdered by society. We're on the side of the society which has reduced her to despair. Because of what's been done to our mother, so amiable, so trusting, we hate life, we hate ourselves.

We're united in a fundamental shame at having to live. It's here we are at the heart of our common fate, the fact that all three of us are our mother's children, the children of a candid creature murdered by society. We're on the side of the society which has reduced her to despair. Because of what's been done to our mother, so amiable, so trusting, we hate life, we hate ourselves.

She opens her eyes, says: Stop lying. She says she hopes she'll never know anything, anything in the world, the way you do. She says: I don't want to know anything the way you do, with that death-derived certainty, that hopeless monotony, the same every day of your life, every night, and that deadly routine of lovelessness.

El alcohol suplió la función que no tuvo Dios, también tuvo la de matarme, la de matar.

The only times she did speak was to say how impossible it was for her to express how boring and long it was, how interminable it was, to be Lol Stein. They asked her to try and pull herself together. She didn't understand why she should, she said. The difficulty she experienced in searching for a single word seemed insurmountable. She acted as though she expected nothing further from life.

Ici l'espoir est entier, la douleur est implantée dans l'espoir. Parfois je m'étonne de ne pas mourir : une lame glacée enfoncée profond dans la chair vivante, de nuit, de jour et on survit.

J'ai eu cette chance d'avoir une mère désespérée d'un désespoir si pur que même le bonheur de la vie, si vif soit-il, quelquefois, n'arrivait pas à l'en distraire tout à fait.

H]umilié par la vie, qui l'un après l'autre avait soufflé ses rêves, [Don Ruggero] mettait la démence entre sa défaite et lui.

I sighed. What is life but fleeting moments of happiness strung together on necklace of despair?

Life was getting dark around the edges. It was like he was moving through a tunnel that was becoming narrower and blacker and more choked and airless, and soon there would be nothing left for him to breathe and no room for him to move.

Goodness and happiness were gone for ever and nothing could be retrieved. This was going to end; and end terribly. The last three years had been spent trying to dodge their fate, but it was rushing up to meet them.

I sense a deep despair inside this boy that must be hard to live with.

Her eyes are liquid and draining out of her.

People with a lot of dead begin to lose the desire to live.

Grandiosity is always a cover for despair.

Examining the past can help clarify many of our problems, but healing doesn't occur in the past. It occurs in the present. There is practically a mania these days for blaming the events of our childhood for our current despair. What the ego doesn't want us to see is that our pain doesn't come from the love we weren't given in the past, but from the love we ourselves aren't giving in the present.

Most men have no idea of the lengths to which a woman will go for love of the depths of our despair when we feel it cut off.

It has been said that love brings up everything unlike itself, and sometimes just when we feel we are moving toward a solution, the problem jumps up again and grabs us by the throat. That is natural. It is part of the process. Do not despair.

Now, as I look back on my life, I can honestly say I wouldn't change it. The pain and suffering have brought me psychological understanding and spiritual strength. I still feel the pain when I reflect on those experiences, but while once they would throw me deeper and deeper into anxious despair, now they feed my desire to keep growing. (3)

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love. She shall not hear us if we sing hereof, Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep. Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough. Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep; And though she saw all heaven in flower above,              She would not love!

and I'd die of his emptiness even more than I'm dying of my own.

I think hope is the worst thing in the world. I really do. It makes a fool of you while it lasts. And then when it's gone, it's like there's nothing left of you at all . . . except what you can't be rid of.

An intensely lonely man for whom life had not gone well - I believe this was your language.