Quotes About Despair

Gerstenfeld somt eerst enkele redenen op waarom het leven in het algemeen niet de moeite waard is geleefd te worden, mensen zijn wolven op twee benen, en gaat dan in op zijn eigen situatie, die niet bijzonder dramatisch is maar die hij kennelijk toch voor uitzichtloos houdt: lusteloosheid en weerzin spelen hem parten.

De man is dood. En als hij echt dood wilde had een gedwongen opname toch niet geholpen, dat is Kadoke's misschien wat fatalistische opvatting; zij die vastbesloten zijn te sterven vinden altijd wel een manier. Hij kan eigenlijk alleen de twijfelaars beschermen, zij die onzeker zijn, die zich nog wel willen bedenken, voor wie de allerergste wanhoop niet meer is dan een fase.

De onzekerheid maakt me gek. Alles is onzeker. Er is geen houvast. En daardoor wordt ook het denken onzeker, mijn gedachten zijn een hel. Alleen de dood is zeker. Alleen de dood kan mijn gedachten stopzetten. Daarom wil ik dood. Op dat soort momenten.' 'Het is een illusie te denken dat de dood een oplossing is.' 'Die illusie is op dit soort momenten aangenamer dan het leven.

He felt like a young student again, confronted with all the art and knowledge of mankind. The experience was both exhilarating and depressing; a whole universe lay at his fingertips, but the fraction of it he could explore in an entire lifetime was so negligible that he was sometimes overwhelmed with despair.

It was the end of civilization, the end of all that men had striven for since the beginning of time. In the space of a few days, humanity had lost its future, for the heart of any race is destroyed, and its will to survive is utterly broken, when its children are taken from it.

It was the end of civilization, the end of all that men had striven for since the beginning of time. In the space of a few days, humanity had lost its future, for the heart of any race is destroyed, and its will to survive is utterly broken, when its children are taken from it. There

Greatness no longer matters. We see now that each human being who dies in the center of a universe: a unique spark of hope and despair, hate and love, going alone into the greater darkness.

The weak man becomes strong when he has nothing, for then only can he feel the wild, mad thrill of despair.

cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the dun-colored houses. What could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime

Tidak ada lagi harapan menyiratkan bahwa harapan pernah ada. Dan harapan hanya ada untuk orang-orang yang memiliki pilihan.

His hatred for the world was carved into his heart.

if it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?

I spent nine years living in a graveyard of dead dreams, pretending it was Cinderella's castle. If that's not sad enough to cry over, I don't know what is.

She could not remember ever being truly happy in her adult life; her years with her mother had been built up devotedly around small guilts and small reproaches, constant weariness, and unending despair. Without ever wanting to become reserved and shy, she had spent so long alone, with no one to love, that it was difficult for her to talk, even casually, to another person without self-consciousness and an awkward inability to find words.

No Human eye can isolate the unhappy coincidence of line and place which suggests evil in the face of a house, and yet somehow a maniac juxtaposition, a badly turned angle, some chance meeting of roof and sky, turned Hill House into a place of despair, more frightening because the face of Hill House seemed awake, with a watchfulness from the blank windows and a touch of glee in the eyebrow of a cornice.

This house, which seemed somehow to have formed itself, flying together into its own powerful pattern under the hands of its builders, fitting itself into its own construction of lines and angles, reared its great head back against the sky without concession to humanity. It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people or for love or for hope.

She turned her car onto the last stretch of straight drive leading her directly, face to face, to Hill House and, moving without thought, pressed her foot on the brake to stall the car and sat, staring. The house was vile. She shivered and thought, the words coming freely into her mind, Hill House is vile, it is diseased; get away from here at once.

wherever she goes she will only find the same hell she was running away from.

Perhaps someone had once hoped to lighten the air of the blue room in Hill House with a dainty wallpaper, not seeing how such a hope would evaporate in Hill House, leaving only the faintest hint of its existence, like an almost inaudible echo of sobbing far away...

It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people or for love or for hope.

They saw me at once, and I thought of them rotting away and curling in pain and crying out loud; I wanted them doubled up and crying on the ground in front of me.

Each was so bent upon her own despair that escape into darkness was vital, and, containing themselves in that tight, vulnerable, impossible cloak which is fury, they stamped along together, each achingly aware of the other, each determined to be the last to speak.

o Human eye can isolate the unhappy coincidence of line and place which suggests evil in the face of a house, and yet somehow a maniac juxtaposition, a badly turned angle, some chance meeting of roof and sky, turned Hill House into a place of despair, more frightening because the face of Hill House seemed awake, with a watchfulness from the blank windows and a touch of glee in the eyebrow of a cornice.

It has enchained and destroyed its people and their lives, it is a place of contained ill will.