Quotes About Despair

this time has finished me.

How could she go on without him? And, at the same time, how could she go on knowing that every moment of their time together had meant so little to him

You have an utterly sincere glance when you look around after you are shipwrecked. You weep a long time on an island when you realize what's happened to you.

I was bored. Sad. Lonely. It was only a matter of time before I cracked.

Hopeless implies that at one time there was hope. And that's another word I don't understand. Hope only exists for people who have choices. [Zarek]

Paint here no draped despairs, no saddening clouds, Where the soul rests, proclaims eternity. But let the wrong cry out as raw as wounds, This Time forgets and never heals, far less transcends.

Deep, deep trouble. Can't rival the dead for love. Lose every time.

Thus, during those nineteen years of torture and slavery, did this soul rise and fall at the same time. Light entered on the one side, and darkness on the other.

Then Ben wailed again, hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant by a conjunction of planets.

I have to tell you it was the first time even after all these years of expecting my own death that i truly knew what it meant to die because with you gone there was nothing left for me to live for.

She felt worthless and hollow. There was no hope of fixing this. And when hope is gone, time is punishment.

I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die;

Their very imagination was dead. When you can say that of a man he has struck bottom... there is no lower deep for him.

that dismal prison house within whose dungeons so many young faces put on the wrinkles of age

He is always poor, out of luck and friendless. The meanest creatures despise him, and even the fleas would desert him for a velocipede.

I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead.

The cayote is a long, slim, sick and sorry-looking skeleton, with a gray wolf-skin stretched over it, a tolerably bushy tail that forever sags down with a despairing expression of forsakenness and misery, a furtive and evil eye, and a long, sharp face, with slightly lifted lip and exposed teeth. He has a general slinking expression all over. The cayote is a living, breathing allegory of Want. He is always hungry.

Caminaba yo por el sendero muy descorazonado, cuando me sentí penetrado de una sensación reconfortante, alegre y cosquilleante, igual que un burbujeo, y tan alegre, que no es posible explicarlo con palabras, porque comprendí por esa señal que Satanás estaba cerca. Ya

Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.

Come morning I found the day as I have found every other day--without relief or explanation.

The thread has snapped. No sound even to mark the breaking let alone the fall. That long anticipated disintegration, when the darkest angel of all, the horror beyond all horrors, sits at last upon my chest, permanently enfolding me in its great covering wings, black as ink, veined in Bees' purple. A creature without a voice. A voice without a name. As immortal as my life. Come here at long last to summon the wind.

Love's love in her blackest season.

It's a nice idea but it reeks of hope. False hope.

Can Clara English ever recover or is she permanently wounded, damned to stagger under years devoid of meaning & love until finally the day comes when she stumbles and is swept away?