Quotes About Despair

Life is passion, celebration in the face of chaos, light in the face of darkness, hope in the face of despair, and joy, for the universe without life feels nothing, is nothing, and does nothing except slowly die.

I hate it when people lose it, there's nothing left because they're not interesting, they're boring, I hate it, and especially smack, people on smack are the most boring in the world.

To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.

There is something about poverty that smells like death.

Snobbery? But it's only a form of despair.

I was in a dark place for so many years. There was no joy.

Anyone can be crazy. That's usually just because there's something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?

Marriage] happens as with cages: the birds without despair to get in, and those within despair of getting out.

God damn God and all His horrible filthy Creation.

The fucking world is falling apart and it still doesn't rate as an emergency. Do you really think they're gonna panic over us?

The holy book he'd spent so much of his life preaching from had one cruel flaw: it was not very good at offering encouragement or hope to those who weren't religious. With God, nothing shall be impossible, proclaimed Luke, and that message, which Peter had always thought was the most joyously positive reassurance you could wish for, now turned itself over like a dying insect, and became Without God, everything shall be impossible.

What can we do now? How many words are left with Ds in it? Not many, I bet. Probably al the best ones have already been ruined.' .. .. 'And if I ever find my dad, what will he be? Just a sound. A sound without any meaning.' p 208

Mientras se encaminaba en dirección norte para regresar a casa, se le ocurrió que, quizás, si anunciaba ante el universo, con la suficiente firmeza, que había abandonado toda esperanza, al final aparecería algo.

She wanted to die. She wanted to die. Because then it would be over. All the loss, all the grief, all the pain, the emptiness - over. And she had said nothing then. Nothing. Nor had she crawled into her room and swallowed her mother's pills, or crawled into her bath and opened up her own wrists. As if death were somehow personal. As if death were somehow an enemy that could be faced and stared down, she would not give it the satisfaction of seeing how badly it had hurt her. Again.

I was so sad that day. My heart was trying to climb from my body.

All the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system, and [the] whole temple of man's achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins…Only within the scaffolding of these truths, only on the firm foundation of unyielding despair, can the soul's habitation henceforth be safely built.

I was a ruthless bastard with a twisted mind who could look on death and find it pleasant. I could break an arm or smash in a face because it was easier that way than asking questions. I could out-fox the fox with a line of reasoning that laughed at the truth because I was the worst of the lot and never did deserve to live. That's what that damned judge thought anyway.

people who are suffering in hell don't want to be all alone.

But despair and nihilism had been eating into me for years. The more I saw of the sad and futile dead, hovering at the edge of life like beggars at the door of a fancy restaurant, the grimmer and more hopeless the whole universe looked to me. If there was a God, my reasoning went, he was either a psychopath or a fuck-up-nobody you could respect would ever have created a universe where you got one chance to warm your hands at the fire, and then you spent the rest of eternity out in the cold.

The pack of all disasters has moulded together and fallen on my neck." FRANCISCO PELSAERT

Azazello begged her not to worry, assuring her that he had seen not only naked women but also women with their skin flayed clean off

These sorrowful musings on my imperfection were nothing compared to the awful realization that I had gained precisely nothing from reading the books of the very best writers; no avenues had opened up, no light gleamed ahead and it had done nothing but depress me. Wormlike, the awful thought began to gnaw at my heart that I should never make a writer.

Once there was a certain lady . . . And she had no children, and generally no happiness either. And so first she cried for a long time, and then she became wicked . . .

Once there was a certain lady . . . And she had no children, and generally no happiness either. And so first she cried for a long time, and then she became wicked . . .