Quotes About Despair

Non rendetemi felice. Non riempitemi, per favore, non lasciate che mi persuada che qualcosa di buono possa venire fuori da tutto ciò. Guardate i miei lividi. Guardate questo taglio. Vedete il taglio che ho nel cuore? Lo vedete allargarsi proprio sotto i vostri occhi, lo vedete consumarsi? Non voglio più sperare. Non voglio pregare che Max sia sano e salvo. O alex Steiner. Il mondo non li merita.

Still in disbelief, she started to dig. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead. He couldnt- Within seconds, snow was carved into her skin. Frozen blood was cracked across her hands. Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. Each half was glowing, and beating under all that white.

His eyes were the color of agony...

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.

The survivors. They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on many occasions, I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colours to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling amongst the jigsaw puzzle of realisation, despair and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.

I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner. Because the world does not deserve them.

Qué he hecho?, no dejaba de musitar. [...] Le hubiera gustado consolarlo, pero nunca había visto a un hombre tan deshecho.

Qué hijos de puta, pensó. Qué adorables hijos de puta. No me hagan feliz. Por favor, no me calmen y me dejen creer que algo bueno puede salir de todo esto. ¿No ven los moretones? ¿No ven esa raspadura? ¿No ven la herida que tengo dentro? ¿No ven cómo se extiende y me corroe ante sus ojos? No quiero volver a tener esperanzas. No quiero rezar para que Max esté vivo y a salvo. O Alex Steiner. Porque el mundo no se los merece.

Like most misery, it started with an apparent happiness

Innumerable confusions and a profound feeling of despair invariably emerge in periods of great technological and cultural transitions. Our Age of Anxiety is, in great part, the result of trying to do today's job with yesterday's tools—with yesterday's concepts.

Suicide is the night train, speeding your way to darkness. You won't get there so quick, not by natural means. You buy your ticket and you climb on board. That ticket costs everything you have. But it's just a one-way. This train takes you into the night, and leaves you there. It's the night train. Now

Cities at night, I feel, contain men who cry in their sleep and then say Nothing.

Suicide is the night train, speeding your way to darkness.

The world is boiling. You hardly dare open a paper these days: the news is all of cataclysm and collapse. Tempers are threadbare; the yobs are winning; everybody accepts the fact that they've got to get nastier in order to survive. The world is going bad on us. I'm having nothing to do with it.

Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a heaven in Hell's despair.

Mind you true tragedy, supreme tragedy are not the worst in life, far from it: the squalid morass of unattempting impotence is the stifling of the soul and hope of man.

What we come across is only this - various tunings of thinking. Doubt and despair, on the one hand, blind obsession by untested principles, on the other, conflict with one another. Fear and anxiety are mixed with hope and confidence. Often and widely, it looks as though thinking were a kind of reasoning conception and calculation completely free of any kind of tuning. But even the coldness of calculation, even the prosaic sobriety of planning are traits of an attunement.

This faith transforms the whirlwind of despair into a warm and reviving breeze of hope. The words of a motto which a generation ago were commonly found on the wall in the homes of devout persons need to be etched on our hearts: Fear knocked at the door. Faith answered. There was no one there.

You know my friends, there comes a time when people get tired of being trampled by the iron feet of oppression. There comes a time my friends, when people get tired of being plunged across the abyss of humiliation, where they experience the bleakness of nagging despair. There comes a time when people get tired of being pushed out of the glittering sunlight of life's July and left standing amid the piercing chill of an alpine November. There comes a time.

There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair.

when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of 'nobodiness'—then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair.

Since crime often grows out of a sense of futility and despair, Negro parents must be urged to give their children the love, attention, and sense of belonging that a segregated society deprives them of.

I should have been reminded that disappointment produces despair and despair produces bitterness, and that the one thing certain about bitterness is its blindness. Bitterness has not the capacity to make the distinction between some and all.

With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.