Quotes About Despair

A pictorial record of his hopes and despairs would have looked like a fever chart.

New York is an egotist. It will suffer no divided attention. Look at me! says the voice of the city imperiously, and its children obey. It snatches their thoughts from their inner griefs, and concentrates them on the pageant that rolls unceasingly from one end of the island to the other. One may despair in New York, but it is difficult to brood on the past; for New York is the City of the Present, the City of Things that are Going On.

It's a hell for the poor, in New York. An iron, grinding city. It frightens you. It's so big and hard and cruel. It takes the fight out of you.

In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?

I am the one without hope, the word without echoes, he who lost everything and he who had everything.

I'm beginning to understand that when we want to kill ourselves, it is not because we are lonely, but because we are trying to break up with the world before the world breaks up with us.

The deeper our faith, the more doubt we must endure; the deeper our hope, the more prone we are to despair; the deeper our love, the more pain its loss will bring: these are a few of the paradoxes we must hold as human beings. If we refuse to hold them in the hopes of living without doubt, despair, and pain, we also find ourselves living without faith, hope, and love.

Let us imagine a number of men in chains, and all condemned to death, where some are killed each day in the sight of the others, and those who remain see their own fate in that of their fellows, and wait their turn, looking at each other sorrowfully and without hope. It is an image of the condition of men.

Nothing justifies this. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing

And then I looked at him, at this man who in a previous life I might have liked or even loved—and watched him turn to stone.

The words "I love you" could contain all the bloodthirsty despair of the abattoir, all the hopelessness of the most isolated, frozen gulag, all the lurid sadness of death row.

Love was not a bridesmaid of despair; love did not have to hurt. Armed with such potent knowledge, she returned quietly to the life she had abandoned.

Angel , who found a flower blooming in hell and died for it ...

In that place things begin to wear away even as they are built; the living die a little more each day. The sun is too far away; light slides endlessly into night; fire and love consume themselves; the heart tries to warm itself with ashes.

Nothing was true but the fatigue of life and the eternal disappointment.

She tried to keep her voice steady, but it was pretense, like pretending self-control when something you loved was dead in front of your eyes. They would have to separate here.

I have been sadder than any man could be: for nothing in the world was made for me.

A música vivia, mas o mundo estava morto. E a canção morreria um dia, pensou, mas como voltaria o mundo à vida? Como voltaria o seu sal?

One interesting thing is that a stage is reached when nothing hurts any more. Things cannot become any worse, finally, for the one who is really depressed.

The tragedy was not even the first drink, because the first drink was not the first resort but the last. There'd had to be first the failure of everything else—of her and Sam, of his friends, of his hope, of his interests, really.

Yes, I have sunk a good deal since they took you from me.

But medical science has been unable to cope with the mental and physical wrecks caused, not by germs, but by emotions of worry, fear, hate, frustration, and despair. Casualties caused by these emotional diseases are mounting and spreading with catastrophic rapidity.

You have only to "stay tuned," and you can arrive at a perpetual state of confusion and, ultimately, despair with no effort at all.

In his clearest moments he thinks he has lost the ability to love, people or places or things, most of all the person and place and thing that he is. Without love nothing has value, nothing can be made to matter very much.