Quotes About Despair

In the fatal course of the most painful ailments, sometimes […], sometimes there occur sweet mornings of perfect repose- and that not owning to some blessed pill or potion […] or at least without our knowing that the loving hand of despair slipped us the drug.

I had always thought that wringing one's hands was a fictional gesture — the obscure outcome, perhaps, of some medieval ritual; but as I took to the woods, for a spell of despair and desperate meditation, this was the gesture ("look, Lord, at these chains!") that would have come nearest to the mute expression of my mood.

This daily headache in the opaque air of this tombal jail is disturbing, but I must persevere. Have written more than a hundred pages and not got anywhere yet. My Calender is getting confused. That must have been around August 15, 1947. Don't think I can go on. Heart, head--everything. Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita. Repeat til page is full, printer.

It did not matter, it did not matter. Destroy and forget! But a butterfly in the Park, an orchid in a shop window, would revive everything with a dazzling inward shock of despair... When he could not sleep, as now often happened... he would walk up and down the open terrace, under a haze of stars, in severely restricted meditation, till the first tramcar jangled and screeched in the dawning abyss of the city.

I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius.

he loved; was not loved; and his life ended in disaster

a shoe-shaped bath tub, within which I felt like Marat but with no white-necked maiden to stab me.

I am trying to describe these things not to relive them in my present boundless misery, but to sort out the portion of hell and the portion of heaven in that strange, awful, maddening world...

So it went on, that obsession and that despair and that nightmarish impossibility to swindle destiny, until a certain first of April, of all dates.

I have nothing but very sad associations with the Old and rotting World. No colored ads in your magazines will change the situation.' 'My

Love, most likely. They don't know how dreary it is, how degrading.

Je me retrouvai seul, roulant sous la pluie du jour agonisant, et les essuie-glace étaient en pleine action, mais que pouvaient-ils contre mes larmes ?

Mi coprii la faccia con la mano e piansi le lacrime più cocenti che avessi mai versato. Le sentii serpeggiare tra le dita e giù per il mento, e scottarmi, e mi si chiuse il naso, e non riuscivo a smettere, e poi lei mi toccò il polso. «Se mi tocchi muoio» dissi. «Sei sicura che non verrai con me? Non c'è speranza che tu venga? Dimmi soltanto questo». «No» rispose. «No, caro, no». Non mi aveva mai chiamato caro.

Arik didn't know how long he'd been in hell. Time was one never-ending, no-lube f&*k when you were in the dark and in agony.

It was Zionism. With the energy of his despair, Herzl produced its blueprint, a one-hundred-page pamphlet titled Der Judenstaat—"The Jewish State." "The Jews who will it," it began, "shall have a state of their own.

Well, kid, I have seen the future and it shits.

After all, beauty has only three possible endings, & only one of them is bearable.

He had known several men who blew their heads off, and he had pondered it much. It seemed to him it was probably because they could not take enough happiness just from the sky and the moon to carry them over the low feelings that came to all men.

I romanticised Mancunian despair, W says. I didn't realise that Mancunian despair is only the desire to leave Manchester

But I neglected to tell him about the Age of Shit. I didn't tell him about the shape of the age to come, which is becoming clearer and clearer to him. War will be all, devouring all, W. says. Human beings will be like rats, like vermin. And the skies will burn, W. says. He can see them burning.

La esperanza podía trastornar a una persona hasta hacerla rozar la locura.

Arrancar su corazón de su pecho y exprimirlo hasta las última gota... igual que hemos hecho con todos los demás.

All I see, he thought, is a dead body breathing.

Phil was a deeply religious man, carrying a faith instilled in him by his parents. "I had told Al several times before to always do his best as he knew how to do it," Phil's father once wrote, "and when things get beyond his skill and ability to ask the Lord to step in and help out." Phil never spoke of his faith, but as he sang hymns over the ocean, conjuring up a protective God, perhaps rescue felt closer, despair more distant.