Quotes About Despair

When all hope was gone, they heeded the counsels of despair. Had they continued to strive, defying their doom, some unforseen wonder might have occurred. And if it did not, still their glory would have surpassed their failure.

He sighed and shook his head slowly. 'And there will be no bringing back the light once it has gone.

It is not easy to keep the flame of hope burning in the cold, empty heart of Sollen. The Season of Snows is not the time to make bright plans for the future. One slow foot in front of the other—that was all the future I knew. Just one more step, and then one more . . . I cared about nothing else.

When we have reached the depths of despair, only then can we look up and see the light of hope.

Definition of failure - wishful sinking!

Sometimes I stare into a pool of piss, I see my reflection, I picture a hole in my face, there's nothing there, it's vanished. I watch the maggots turn to flies, and they fly off with bits of flesh from my body. I attempt to wipe it clear from my mind, but the nice thoughts get swallowed up. I can't think nice for too long…it would destroy me.

There is no end. There is no cure. It gets worse with time. Cure. How can you cure an institution, we are bricks crumbling in the walls of despair. Death is inevitable for us all. But the insanity is here to stay.

Suicides - you read of it…but you don't know the truth, if you were to see it you would go insane! Cut throats, cut wrists, hangings, suffocating, eyes bulging and tongues protruding, more shit. Suicides always shit themselves, did you know that! Life's final shit, the final act of madness; smell that you rats! Clean me up you pigs, zip me up in the bag you scum and get me out of here… Get me the fuck out of here…get me out!

Broadmoor creeps into your blood, the walls touch the sky and the grounds suck you in, they've even got their own burial ground. We called it the 'madman's hole', it smelt of fear; a stillness and even the birds seemed to have a stone face like their eyes were made of marble. So many monsters, men of hell, I don't know how a sane man can keep sane in there.

And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone

Theres a hole in the world like a great black pit and its filled with people who are filled with shit

All night long like a moving stain, (The trees are breaking, my son,) The black ghost wanders his house of pain. There is blood where his hand has lain. It is wrong he should wear a chain. (The sky is falling, my son.)

My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?

But here's a little secret, between you, me, and the rest of the mall: buying shit isn't enough. What we wish for in our secret hearts is self-expression, the chance to reveal ourselves and to be loved for this revelation, devoured by love. And thus, most of us go about our duties of commerce and leisure in a state of perpetual longing, with nocturnal excursions into the province of despair.

But something occurred to me as I sped through that dirty shroud of fog, something Vonnegut has been trying to explain to the rest of us for most of his life. And that is this: Despair is a form of hope. It is an acknowledgment of the distance between ourselves and our appointed happiness. At certain moments, it is reason enough to live.

An office is a machine for dying.

If I weren't so depressed, I'd kill myself.

It was 9pm, the fag end of another dismal day.

Against a broken heart, even absurdity falters. Because words fall away. A dialogue of silence. That deafens.

the failure of hope has a name: it is called suffering.

What I lack is proof to the contrary, sir. I ain't seen it yet, in all my years. What do you think makes criminals in the first place?' 'Stupidity and greed.' 'Besides those? I'll tell you. It's looking around, real carefully. It's seeing what's really there, and who wins every time, and it's deciding that despair tastes like shit. It's deciding to do whatever it takes to sneak through, to win what you can for yourself.

Acceptable food rots while we are chased from bins behind restaurants, chased from sleeping on the street, chased from relieving ourselves unless we pay for food or gas, until finally we are so hungry, sleepless, smelly, constipated and beaten-down that we simply die of lack of will to live.

It's really easy to slide into a depression fueled by the pointlessness of existence.

I'm broken from the inside. The depression that has slowly eaten away at me has finally consumed me, and I couldn't beat it.