Quotes About Despair

I don't want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can't think again. Not ever again. I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That's why I'm trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.

I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That's why I'm trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning. If this gets any worse, I might have to go back to the doctor. It's getting that bad again.

No sé si alguna vez te haz sentido así. Que quisieras dormir por miles de años. O simplemente no existir. O no estar consciente de que existes.

Within him, as he hurled himself forward, was born a love, a despairing fondness for this flag which was near him. It was a creation of beauty and invulnerability. It was a goddess, radiant, that bended its form with an imperious gesture to him. It was a woman, red and white, hating and loving, that called him with the voice of his hopes. Because no harm could come to it he endowed it with power. He kept near, as if it could be a saver of lives, and an imploring cry went from his mind.

The injured captain, lying in the bow, was at this time buried in that profound dejection and indifference which comes, temporarily at least, to even the bravest and most enduring when, willy nilly, the firm fails, the army loses, the ship goes down.

The shadows of his face were deepening and his tight lips seemed holding in check the moan of great despair. There could be seen a certain stiffness in the movements of his body, as if he were taking infinite care not to arouse the passion of his wounds. As he went on, he seemed always looking for a place, like one who goes to choose a grave.

Is that how you feel, my friend? That the air dislikes you and your lungs feel half-empty?

I suppose this was the first time I had ever felt an urge not to be. Never an urge to die, far less an urge to put an end to myself - simply an urge not to be. This disgusting, hostile and unlovely world was not made for me, nor I for it.

Life, that can shower you with so much splendour, is unremittingly cruel to those who have given up.

What Pandora did not know was that, when she shut the lid of the jar so hastily, she for ever imprisoned inside one last daughter of Nyx. One last little creature was left behind to beat its wings hopelessly in the jar for ever. Its name was ELPIS, Hope.

Life, that can shower you with so much slendour, is unremittingly cruel to those who have given up.

it is surely better to strive for a complete understanding than to despair of the human mind.

all clues, ideally, should be met with delight and detachment, rather than euphoria or, worse, disdain and despair.

I'm rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I'm tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not never havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we's comin from or goin to or why. I'm tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I'm tired of all the times I've wanted to help and couldn't. I'm tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it's the pain. There's too much. If I could end it, I would. But I can't.

This inhuman place makes human monsters.

You think Okay, I get it, I'm prepared for the worst , but you hold out that small hope, see, and that's what fucks you up. That's what kills you.

It was like drowning, only from the inside out.

everyone is dead and this is hell.

They say suicides and murderers go to Hell. If so, I will know my way around, because I've been there for the last eight years.

The shuddering would not stop. The pain was like the end of the world. He thought: There comes a point when the very discussion of pain becomes redundant. No one knows there is pain the size of this in the world. No one. It is like being possessed by demons.

If you kill what you love, you're damned.

A frightening possibility suddenly occurred to him: maybe sometimes things didn't just go wrong and then stop; maybe sometimes they just kept going wronger and wronger until everything was totally fucked up.

What he knows now is that guilt isn't the only reason people commit suicide. Sometimes you can just get bored with afternoon TV.

I hope he died of intestinal cancer in a part of the world where morphine is as of yet undiscovered.