Quotes About Despair

Youth is not a time of life, it is a state of mind. You are as old as your doubt, your fear, your despair. The way to keep young is to keep your faith young. Keep your self-confidence young. Keep your hope young.

Despair is the absolute extreme of self-love. It is reached when a man deliberately turns his back on all help from anyone else in order to taste the rotten luxury of knowing himself to be lost.

Every message of despair is the statement of a situation from which everybody must freely try to find a way out.

Even the cry from the depths is an affirmation: Why cry if there is no hint or hope of hearing?

He's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.

To persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage. The coward despairs.

Success and failure are both difficult to endure. Along with success come drugs, divorce, fornication, bullying, travel, meditation, medication, depression, neurosis and suicide. With failure comes failure.

There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The four most miserable years of my life . . .

Despair is the offspring of fear and impatience.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering — this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutory day-time advice for everyone. But at three o'clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn't work — in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.

Perhaps this was rock bottom. But then, she had thought that before, and there was always a little farther to fall.

Our innocence had been replaced by fear and we had become monsters. There was nothing we could do about it.

Sve je u meni mrtvo; tako mi je dobro. Ne dopire do mene zvuk, umro mi je ocinji vid. Sve je ostalo za velikom kapijom koja se zatvorila muklo za mnom. Izgubio sam sve i nisam vise covjek nego nemirna besana misao koja je potonula i pricutala se na dubokom dnu, a nada mnom su kao neprozirne zelene mase voda, mir, daljina i zaborav.

Šta vredi sva ta huka, kad evo do?e ovakvo vreme pa ?ovek propadne tako da ne može ni da izgine ni da živi, nego trune kao direk u zemlji i sva?iji je, samo nije svoj.

Preda mnom je no? bez sna, nedogledna, jarosna, ubila?ka pustinja. ?ini mi se da je živo bi?e ne?e preživetini videti joj kraja. A meni valja živeti i ?ekati. Živeti sa nadom, u ?ekanju. Pa i bez nade.

Kad bi se sakupila i ujedno sabrala li?na ose?anja gneva, protesta, ga?enja i ogor?enja sa kojima su ljudi pojedinci umrli, uzalud dozivaju?i pravdu i zaštitu - kad bi tako nešto bilo mogu?no - bila bi to velika snaga, divan prizor, i uteha ljudskom duhu zauvek. Nažalost, to je nezamislivo i neizvodljivo. Svak umire u tami i teskobi svoga o?ajavanja, a ve?ina sa ose?anjem uzaludnosti svojih najboljih težnja i napora.

Zar se i onom koji se nalazi ve? nad ponorom samoubistva ?esto ne otvaraju mogu?nosti i neo?ekivani putevi daljeg života?

There comes a time when a man finds himself in front of a dark uncrossable abyss, which he himself has spent years digging. He cannot go forward, and has no way back. Words have failed, tears won't help, and who would he call out to? He can't even remember his own name. Then the man sees that on this god's green earth there is but one true suffering: the torment of guilty conscience.

Nascose la testa fra le mani e pianse senza ritegno. Le lacrime le rigavano le guance, restando intrappolate tra le perle e i diamanti di girocollo. Si sentiva così sola.

Neither of them knew what it was to be family, to have family, to make a family. They knew cruelty, abuse, abandonment. She wondered if that was why they had come together. They both understood what it was to have nothing, to know fear and hunger and despair- and both had remade themselves.

every degree of despair and hope that slithered its way across the littered street to crawl over her skin.

His mouth opens. From inside him comes a slow stream, without breath, without interruption. It flows up through his body and out upon me; it passes through the cabin, through the wreck; washing the cliffs and shores of the island, it runs northward and southward to the ends of the earth. Soft and cold, dark and unending, it beats against my eyelids, against the skin of my face.

The blood of life is leaving his body and despair is taking its place, despair that is like a gas, odourless, tasteless, without nourishment. You breathe it in, your limbs relax, you cease to care, even at the moment when the steel touches your throat.