Quotes About Despair

It felt as if she were bleeding - but it wasn't blood that leaked out of her, not something that could be easily transfused. Instead she was losing her dreams.

Poverty was a soul-crushing thing. A cave that tightened around you, its pinprick of light closing a little more at the end of each desperate, unchanged day.

The falling apart of a man's life should make more noise. It should startle passesrby with its Sturm and Drang. It ought to sound like the Parthenon crashing down. Not this ordinary, everyday kind of quiet...He closed his eyes...And still it was quiet, this falling apart of his life, as silent as the last beat of an old man's heart. A quiet, echoing thud, and then...nothing.

Lost is lost; it's when you want someone to hold you but there is no one who can. Lost is alone, even when people are all around you.

man does not stand forever, his nullification. they all seek their own existence and to assure their existence against that complete atomization into nothingness or into meaninglessness. Man cannot stand a meaningless life.

the person whose life is falling apart and who is thus tempted to despair needs to know Christ, and knowing Christ requires knowing who he is and what he has done. In

The roller coaster of emotions following a suicide causes intense feelings of isolation and a breaking apart from all that once seemed familiar.

The more they advance, the more the darkness thickens around them. The more they go on, the more bitter and insipid everything becomes. They derive little comfort from the recollection of times past when God seemed to make their spiritual path easier.

But God does not listen to such entreaty; rather, instead of consolation he sends boredom, and instead of light, darkness. Right there, halfway along our road, we don't know whether we are going backwards or forwards.

was a planless life, hopeless, and without direction. I was merely living from day to day: yesterday seemed long ago and tomorrow was too far away.

Sad people are too sad to do anything but drink brandy and sleep all day.

Câte zile f?r? rost! Pline de poveÅŸti, o groaz? de poveÅŸti întunecate. PoveÅŸti terminate, altele abia începute, înfipte-n întunecimea zilei ca o creang? moart?.

No sé cuántas horas estuve sin dormir, con los ojos abiertos y resecos recogiendo todos los dolores que pululaban, vivos como gusanos, en las entrañas de la casa.

Aún era yo la criatura encogida y amargada a la que le han roto un sueño.

Tal vez el sentido de la vida para una mujer consiste únicamente en ser descubierta así, mirada de manera que ella misma se sienta irradiante de luz.» No en mirar, no en escuchar venenos y torpezas de los otros, sino en vivir plenamente el propio goce de los sentimientos y las sensaciones, la propia desesperación y alegría. La propia maldad o bondad...

Como una bandada de cuervos posados en las ramas del árbol del ahorcado, así las amigas de Angustias estaban sentadas, vestidas de negro, en su cuarto, aquellos días.

Some creatures are born to live, others to work, others to watch life. I had a small, miserable role as spectator. Impossible to get out of it. Impossible to free myself. A dreadful grief was the only reality for me then.

Locking away appetite, anger, the fullness of life, anorexia helps cover up whatever struggles inside. With its controlling bouts of bingeing and starvation, of trance and half-life, it becomes a shield to fend off despair and longing and what most of use would see as ordinary responsible behavior.

We are alive. We are human, with good and bad in us. That's all we know for sure. We can't create a new species or a new world. That's been done. Now we have to live within those boundaries . What are our choices? We can despair and curse, and change nothing. We can choose evil like our enemies have done and create a world based on hate. Or we can try to make things better.

Over time, alcohol seeps into your soul. It changes you—what you care about, what you are capable of. It rots you from the inside. It can alienate you from love itself.

You were a painting by Matisse, but you took sleeping pills.

Wer den Normen entspricht, kann es sich leisten zu verzweifeln, dass es sie gibt.

Yet as bad as she felt, it was nothing compared to the stark despair she saw in Rafferty's eyes. It was so total, and went so deep, that it made her forget her own hurt to see it. It was the look of a man who'd given up deep inside where it mattered most, and for Maggie, who was a survivor to her very toes, it was profoundly disturbing.

You ooze joy and she is an open wound, shrill and wan, unfucked and unloved.