Quotes About Despair

It's not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.

I have always lived with the awareness of the impossibility of living.

The only part of the planet where existence seemed to have some justification is tainted with gangrene.

Existence = Torment. The equation seems obvious to me

No need to elaborate works

Man interests me only since he has ceased to believe in himself. Wile he was in his ascending phase, he deserved no more than indifference. Now he provokes a new sentiment, a special sympathy: compassionate horror.

I am far from trying to pervert your hopes: life will take care of that. Like everyone else, you will proceed from one forfeiture to the next.

At this very moment, I am suffering—as we say in French, j'ai mal.

La desproporción entre la infinitud del mundo y la finitud del hombre es un serio motivo de desesperación;

Ona duyduÄŸum ilgiye kar?? koymaya çal???yorum, gözlerinin, yanaklar?n?n, burnunun, dudaklar?n?n tamamen çürüyüp kokmuÅŸ halini gözümün önüne getiriyorum. Hiçbir ÅŸey deÄŸiÅŸmiyor: uyand?rd??? tan?mlanamaz ÅŸey olduÄŸu gibi duruyor. Bu tür anlarda anl?yor insan Bilmeye raÄŸmen hayat?n nas?l devam edebildiÄŸini.

All thoughts are alike the moans of a worm stepped on by the angels

Ne se suicident que les optimistes qui ne peuvent plus l'être. Les autres, n'ayant aucune raison de vivre, pourquoi en auraient-ils de mourir ?

Ennui is the martyrdom of those who live and die for no belief.

There is no limit-disappointment.

What shall we tell the blind woman in Rilke's poem who lamented that 'I can no longer live with the sky upon me'? Would it comfort her if we told her we can no longer live with the earth underneath our feet?

Melancholy suicide. —This is connected with a general state of extreme depression and exaggerated sadness, causing the patient no longer to realize sanely the bonds which connect him with people and things about him. Pleasures no longer attract;

When there is no hope in the future, the present appears atrociously bitter.

Death had to take her little by little, bit by bit, dragging her along to the bitter end of the miserable existence she'd made for herself. They never even knew what she did die of. Some spoke of a chill. But the truth was that she died from poverty, from the filth and the weariness of her wretched life.

Trópico se vistió de luto un día, fango tomó color de sangre seca, niebla en neblina erré, la mente hueca, gris en el corazón, alma vacía

And that White Sustenance—Despair—

We have seen the immediate effect of the first exposition of the evangelical theory of faith. When applied to the case of the morbidly-despairing sinner, that theory has one argumentative imperfection which the logical sharpness of madness will soon discover and point out. The simple reply is: "I do not feel the faith which you describe. I wish I could feel it; but it is no use trying to conceal the fact, I am conscious of nothing like it."

Perhaps now, though, he had hit bottom. One thing about the bottom, he told himself, you can't fall any further. He tried to take comfort from this thought. Yet there knocked in his heart the suspicion that the bottom did not really exist.

When my bed get empty, make me feel awful mean and blue.

Horns sounded from the trapped vehicles on the motorway, a despairing chorus.