Quotes About Despair

I'm afraid love is just a word.

Love and despair go hand in hand.

She could taste loss in the back of her throat so badly that she could vomit.

Wil ate without enthusiasm. His bacon tasted like nothing. Like a dead animal, fried. His eggs, aborted chickens.

His very mantle was aspersed. In another minute he would stand sodden, inglorious, a mock.

Marcella cared nothing for men's admiration, and yet, instead of retiring to one of those nunneries which are founded for her kind, she chose to rove the mountains, causing despair to all the shepherds.

I do not despair that some day we shall place politics upon a sound commercial basis, as they have already done in America and France, or leave them entirely in the hands of the police, as they do in Russia.

I keep thinking of all the people who cast despairing eyes toward the dark heavens and cry "Why?" And I imagine him. I imagine him listening. I picture his eyes misting and a pierced hand brushing away a tear. And although he may offer no answer, although he may solve no dilemma, although the question may freeze painfully in midair, he who also was once alone, understands.

To see the despair without the grace is suicidal. To see the grace without the despair is upper room futility. But to see them both is conversion.

Rejoice in the Lord. This is step one. Do not hurry past it. Face God before you face your problem. Then you will be ready to… Ask God for help. "Let your requests be made known to God" (Phil. 4:6). Fear triggers either despair or prayer. Choose wisely. God said, "Call on me in the day of trouble" (Ps. 50:15 NIV).

We have to make myths of our lives; it is the only way to live them without despair. ...The inner world, the world of poetry, is as much nourished by the bad times as by anything.

Here life goes on, even and monotonous on the surface, full of lightning, of summits and of despair, in its depths. We have now arrived at a stage in life so rich in new perceptions that cannot be transmitted to those at another stage—one feels at the same time full of so much gentleness and so much despair—the enigma of this life grows, grows, drowns one and crushes one, then all of a sudden in a supreme moment of light one becomes aware of the "sacred." We

The dread of futility has been my life-long plague.

Cotton rows crisscross the world And dead-tired nights of yearning Thunderbolts on leather strops And all my body burning Sugar cane reach up to God And every baby crying Shame a blanket of my night And all my days are dying

Life was cheap and death entirely free.

Sugar cane reach up to God And every baby crying Shame the blanket of my night And all my days are dying

Reality began its tedious crawl back into their reasoning. After all, they were needy and hungry and despised and dispossessed, and sinners the world over were in the driver's seat. How long, merciful Father? How long? A

But on that onerous day, oppressed beyond relief, my own mortality was borne in upon me on sluggish tides of doom.

I couldn't distinguish whether I was smelling the clutching sound of misery or hearing the cloying odor of death.

Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters of a worn-through soul. Moans Deep swan song Blue farewell of a dying dream.

Have you ever been torn between two impossibilities and knew in your heart that no matter which way you went or which path you chose that you were doomed to unhappiness?

Hope was such a gift and a curse all rolled into one.

You don't understand. How could you? We were in the worst sort of hell. We weren't living day to day or even hour to hour. We survived minute by excruciating minute. The next day was an eternity away and we didn't want it. Death wasn't the enemy. It was our salvation.

He felt strangled by helplessness.