Quotes About Despair

She would never again try to knit even one stitch in the long chain of their married life. She hated all that was to come.

For a moment, after years of scamping, she felt the dread power of wifehood; they were locked in each other's grasp till the end—the end, a mouthful of sunless muckworms and grass roots stifling his blare of trumpets and her blasphemies against love.

I saw my entire life a waste, a desert of shame and unspeakable sorrow, and behind me, a suicided wife!

I bet I live till ninety, with all my aches and pains. To think that's fifty more years of the Great I-Am. No wonder I want to make away with myself. Who wouldn't?

Let no one despair, even though in the darkest night the last star of hope may disappear.

Los cadáveres se quedaban allí, con su ropa negra, devorados por las ratas y los gusanos, derretidos por el sol, anegados por las lluvias. Eran el abono del miedo.

Comedy is an escape, not from truth but from despair a narrow escape into faith.

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

I am not Hamlet. I don't play a role anymore. My words have nothing more to tell me. My thoughts suck the blood out of the images. My drama is cancelled. Behind me the set is being built. By people my drama doesn't interest, for people it doesn't concern. It doesn't interest me anymore either. I won't play along anymore.

His pain is too great for tears. Some pain is so great that tears are powerless.

I went into the kitchen, took the cognac out of the icebox and had a long drink from it. It didn't help. I had another, that didn't help either.

I cannot tell why this imaginedDespair has fallen upon me;The ghost of an ancient legendThat will not let me be.

Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.

I wept in my dreams. I dreamed you lay in the grave; I awoke, and the tears still poured down my cheeks. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you had left me; I awoke and I went on weeping long and bitterly. I wept in my dreams, I dreamed you were still kind to me; I awoke, and still the flow of my tears streams on.

First, I thought, almost despairing, This must crush my spirit now; Yet I bore it, and am bearing- Only do not ask me how.

6) The understanding that philosophers have of man is superficial: they are not able to fathom his depths, his despair, what is hidden in his craving for distraction and in the mood of boredom, which discloses more of man's reality than all his rational activities.

I'm no good at anything. Not men. Not social skills. Not work. Nothing.

I realised I had a stream of thoughts about him which ran for the most part below conscious level. I noticed jets spurting up from this stream: comparisons with other relationships I knew of which had weathered massive changes and shifts of balance; small crumbs of hope he would find he missed the familiarity of my company, or that his gestures of comfort meant more than a gentle goodbye. I grieved for these hopes, and their hopelessness.

When I trained my hawk I was having a quiet conversation, of sorts, with the deeds and works of a long-dead man who was suspicious, morose, determined to despair. A man whose life disturbed me. But a man, too, who loved nature, who found it surprising, bewitching and endlessly novel.

my gentleness is a veneer on raging despair.

Sometimes when light dawns it simply illuminates how dismal circumstances have become.

I wanted to cut loose from the world, and I shared, too, his desire to escape to the wild, a desire that can rip away all human softness and leave you stranded in a world of savage, courteous despair.

How can you know me and want to die?

She won't forget or recover, she is inconsolable.