Quotes About Despair

Oh, soltanto colui che è stato vinto sa che significhi questa parola! Essa assomiglia a una sera in una casa in cui si sia guastata la luce elettrica, assomiglia a una stanza sulle cui tappezzerie si diffonde una muffa verde piena di vita insana. Assomiglia a dei bambini rachitici indemoniati, all'olio marcio, a una bestemmia oscena pronunciata da voci femminili nell'oscurità. Insomma, assomiglia alla morte.

The rain is streaming down and shrouding the outside world from my sight. Long may it do so. I don't need the world any more, and no one in the world needs me. I was in the clinic while the shooting and the coup d'etat took place, but the idea of abandoning the cure had begun insidiously to grow in my mind even before the fighting started in the streets of Moscow. I have the morphine to thank for making me brave. I'm not afraid of rifle fire now.

A quarter of an hour later, Ruikhin sat in complete solitude, hunched over his bream, drinking glass after glass, understanding and recognizing that it was no longer possible to set anything right in his life, that it was only possible to forget.

Umutsuzluk ise ba???lanmaz bir günahkârl?kt?r.

But no, no! The seductive mystics are lying. There are no Caribbean Seas in the world, no reckless buccaneers are sailing them, and no corvettes are chasing them, no cannon smoke drifts low over the waves. There is nothing, and there never was! There is only a stunted linden tree out there, and iron fence, and the boulevard beyond it...And ice melting in the bowl, and someone's bovine bloodshot eyes at the next table, and fear, fear...Oh, gods, gods, poison, give me poison!... (67)

Whether I am a fool or a villain I know not; but this is certain, I am also most deserving of pity—perhaps more than she. My soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of little moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day.

Can it be that my single purpose on this earth is to destroy the hopes of others? Since I have been living and breathing, fate has somehow always led me into the dramatic climaxes of others' lives, as if without me no one would be able to die, or to come to despair! I have been the necessary character of the fifth act; I have played the sorry role of executioner or traitor involuntarily. 

I realized that there was no point or sense in chasing after happiness that had perished.

My soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything is of little moment. I become as easily accustomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier day by day. One expedient only is left to me—travel.

Suicide is worse than murder. One can murder for vengeance or out of greed, but even greed is the expression of a perverted love of life. But to commit suicide is to throw one's life down contemptuously at God's feet

My dear colleagues, as you know, the greatest misfortune for a man is a happy marriage; he hasn't the slightest hope of a divorce.

terrible are the wounds of a murdered dream

?ovjek i ne znaju?i komponira svoj život prema zakonima ljepote i u trenutcima najdubljeg bezna?a.

Beauty, the last triumph possible for man who can no longer hope.

Beauté, la dernière victoire possible de l'homme qui n'a plus d'espoir

One could betray one's parents, husband, country, love, but when parents husband, country, and love were gone—what was left to betray?

But the world was too ugly, and no one decided to rise up out of the grave.

Then I fell in love and everything went to hell.

Love is cruel as the grave.

Love is a glimpse of hope. To love is to hope. When we abandon hope, we cease to exist.

She understood his eyes, colder than winter's heart. A man who knew he was dead and couldn't make himself care; you are spared that. Mashiara. His lost love.

My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.

Pale brows, still hands and dim hair, I had a beautiful friend And dreamed that the old despair Would end in love in the end.

Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.