Quotes About Despair

her] mind blackens. The blackness is not a thought, but if it could be pressed into a thought, if a chemical from a dropper could be dripped onto it causing its color and essence to become visible, it would take the shape of this sentence: Why does no one want me?

For a while, Mirabelle believes there will be a moment when he will cave in and let himself love her, but eventually she lets the idea go. She hits bottom. She dwells in the muck for several months, not depressed exactly, but involved in a mourning that at first she thinks is for Ray but soon realizes is for the loss of her old self.

I write in my log that it is a view of heaven from a seat in hell. My

Pitch black again. Like someone extinguished an angel.

For decades, journalism's steady focus on problems and seemingly incurable pathologies was preparing the soil that allowed Trump's seeds of discontent and despair to take root. . .

Trump was the beneficiary of a belief—near universal in American journalism—that "serious news" can essentially be defined as "what's going wrong." . . . For decades, journalism's steady focus on problems and seemingly incurable pathologies was preparing the soil that allowed Trump's seeds of discontent and despair to take root. . . .

We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so forlornly unhappy as when we have lost our love object or its love.

There is no sin so profound, no despondency so low, no misery so abject, but the love of Christ is deeper.

It's a cold bowl of chili when love lets you down.

I've given up on you...Love fades. Mine has.

They will love me for that which destroys me.

You don't believe in love, do you?" - "I think it exists. I just don't think it will ever exist for me.

Unpopular, lonely and loving, Elinor need not trouble, For if she were not so loving, She would not be so miserable.

Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love

Hell is the inability to love.

When the one you love is in love with someone else, don't you know it's torture, I mean it's living hell.

The sun's gone dim, and the moon's gone black. For I loved him, and he didn't love back.

I have wanted to kill myself a million times, but somehow I am still in love with life.

Mortal lovers must not try to remain at the first step; for lasting passion is the dream of a harlot and from it we wake in despair.

The loss of love is a terrible thing; They lie who say that death is worse.

And all the time she felt the reflection of his hopelessness in her. She couldn't quite, quite love in hoplessness. And he, being hopeless, couldn't ever love at all.

Discouragement is simply the despair of wounded self-love.

The Soul is shriveled up and buried in a grave that does not love.

Over futile odds, and laughed at by the gods And now the final frame. Love is a losing game.