Quotes About Despair

It is the strangest yellow, that wallpaper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw - not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.

What is unbelief but the despair, dictated by the dominant powers, that nothing can really change?

Is not prayer the intensely personal struggle within each disciple, and among us collectively, to resist the despair and distractions that cause us to practice unbelief, to abandon or avoid the way of Jesus?

When you walked out that door I swore that I didn't care But I lost every thing, darlin', then and there

Being with him felt unbearable, but being with anyone else did too.

I didn't wake from these dreams crying. I woke shrieking. Paul grabbed me and held me until I was quiet. He wetted a washcloth with cool water and put it over my face. But those wet washcloths couldn't wash the dreams of my mother away. Nothing did. Nothing would. Nothing could ever bring my mother back or make it okay that she was gone. Nothing would put me beside her the moment she died. It broke me up. It cut me off. It tumbled me end over end.

In the mornings, my pain was magnified by about a thousand. In the morning there weren't only those sad facts about my life. Now there was also the additional fact that I was a pile of shit.

He hadn't loved

I clutched its mate to my chest like a baby, though of course it was futile. What is one boot without the other boot? It is nothing.

All of that was impossible now, regardless of what the letter said. My mom was dead. My mom was dead. My mom was dead. Everything I ever imagined about myself had disappeared into the crack of her last breath.

How can a book describe the psychological factors a person must prepare for . . . the despair, the alienation, the anxiety and especially the pain, both physical and mental, which slices to the very heart of the hiker's volition, which are the real things that must be planned for? No words can transmit those factors . . .

She'd been dead an hour. Her limbs had cooled, but her belly was still an island of warm. I pressed my face into the warmth and howled some more.

Nothing could ever bring my mother back or make it okay that she was gone. Nothing would put me beside her the moment she died. It broke me up. It cut me off. It tumbled me end over end.

a quote on page 6 by a fellow named Charles Long, with whom the authors of The Pacific Crest Trail, Volume 1: California heartily agreed, that said, "How can a book describe the psychological factors a person must prepare for … the despair, the alienation, the anxiety and especially the pain, both physical and mental, which slices to the very heart of the hiker's volition, which are the real things that must be planned for? No words can transmit those factors …

How has your sense of despair contributed to your desire to positively impact your community? How have you countered ugliness by bringing beauty and hope to others through your work? In what ways has your rage, sorrow, and fear illuminated the path forward as you make change in the world? How might you embrace the less-desirable feelings you have about the meaning of your work so they can serve rather than stop you?

Your sense of despair about the meaning of your work sustains itself only if you believe the narrowest version of the story—the one that assumes your contribution to the greater good can be measured by only one result.

Your sense of despair about the meaning of your work sustains itself only if you believe the narrowest version of the story—the one that assumes your contribution to the greater good can be measured by only one result. But it can't. You know that.

He had no words for it, what made him, what pained him, what rocked him and fucked him.

Hope springs eternal in the town of dreams...and so does despair and humiliation.

The villagers waited silently. There is something about people with no hope for a better future in life. You can identify them from their expression. Most of all, it is in their eyes, which

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares;My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;My crop of corn is but a field of tares;And all my good is but vain hope of gain:The day is past, and yet I saw no sun;And now I live, and now my life is done.

The world maddens some, and brutifies others.

But of all the aspects of social misery nothing is so heart-breaking as unemployment...

It is a question not of hope or despair, but of truth; not of optimism nor of Pessimism, but of wisdom. Wisdom is knowing what to do next; virtue is doing it.