Quotes About Despair

How downhearted was Meer at night! Whatever came to his lips became a cry for help. When he started on the path of love, he was like fire; Now it's ended he is a heap of ashes on a pyre.

A simmering fire burns our hearts away; We sink and my heart in depth of agony lies; As with the dawn the taper of the lamp Laps up the last drops of oil and dies.

Once through this ruined city did I pass I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked 'What knowest thou of this wilderness?' It replied : 'I can sum it up in two words: 'Alas! Alas

We lose June. We lose July. In August we look in mirrors and want to die.

If God is good, how is it that the weed of evil takes root everywhere, and what is there to keep us from murdering each other in despair?

Women practice their obsession with the body in private. Alone, with despair, we glance into the mirror and down at the scale, hopeful and anguished in our quest for the body's reduction.

I had so much. I felt so sad.

A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.

Only a world without love strikes me as instantly and decisively more terrible than one without music.

Jake was close to tears. In that moment he saw the world in its true light, as a place where nothing had ever been any good and nothing of significance done: no art worth a second look, no philosophy of the slightest appositeness, no law but served the state, no history that gave an inkling of how it had been and what had happened. And no love, only egotism, infatuation and lust.

A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.

For the first time he really felt that it was no use trying to save those who fundamentally would rather not be saved.

Sir if I was your daughter I would wait until this train started again and throw myself in front of it!

I was on the verge of crying with grief at still being alive.

Suddenly a sorrow the color of dawn welled up in him. They might as well lick each other's wounds. But they would lick forever, and the wounds would never heal, and in the end their tongues would be worn away.

Little by little - no, a lot by a lot - they all took from her. No one gave her anything. Mitsuko became a hollow shell.

Shinji slowly fell forward onto his face. Debris bounced up on impact. It took less than thirty seconds for the rest of his body to die. The memento of his beloved uncle--the earring worn by the woman he loved--was now stained with the blood running down Shinji's left ear, reflecting the glow from the red flames of the farm building. And so the boy known as the Third Man, Shinji Mimura, was dead.

What I mean is, even a dumbass like me can think everything's pointless. Why do I get up and eat? It all ends up shit anyway. Why am I going to school and studying? Even if I happen to succeed I'm going to die anyway. You wear nice clothes, you seek respect, you make a lot of money, but what's the point? It's all pointless. But… but, you see, we still have emotions like joy and happiness, right? They may not amount to much but they fill up our emptiness.

Man cries, his tears dry up and run out. So he becomes a devil, reduced to a monster.

She thinks she will explode with all the seemingly endless positions of grief.

Leni saw suddenly how hope could break you, how it was a shiny lure for the unwary. What happened to you if you hoped too hard for the best and got the worst?

She remembered how it had felt and tasted, that slowly descending depression, like a thick glass jar that closed around you, sucking away the air you needed to breathe, creating a barrier between you and the world. The hell of it was that she'd been able to see all that she was missing, but when she'd reached out, all she'd touched was cold, hard glass.

We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure. —CÉSAR CHÁVEZ

We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure.