Quotes About Despair

He turned away and stumped on down the road leaving her to follow. The view from the back was that of an old man, thin, frail, intolerable to live with, intolerable to think of as one day not being there because then she would have nothing to live for herself.

she looked a hundred years older, as stale and ruined as yesterday's oatmeal.

after the town of Tehuacán into the heights of the rocky past, not a person in sight, the summits of these nameless mountains looking scalded and bare and terrifying in their flinty emptiness.

accurately be termed wasteland

But there is a singular connection between Samuel Beckett, "the grammarian of solitude," sunk in his comical Irish gloom, hiding in a tiny apartment in Paris, and the condition of Manuel Othón, the late-nineteenth-century Mexican recluse, brooding in the parched wasteland in the middle of Mexico. Seemingly at a loss for words around 1900, Othón, in a despairing poem, wrote the Beckett-like line "the desert, the desert and the desert.

Bunt was disgustedly drinking a pint of beer, eyeing the table with resentment, the dishes of sticky pork and soggy and wilted lettuce, the black vegetables, the gray broth, the purple meat. On one dish of yellow meat was a severed chicken's head, its eyes blinded, its scalloped comb torn like a red rag.

Eagle Pass seemed a town in decline.

If you leave me, I'll want to die. Love, Elizabeth Carstensen.

I find everything demoralizing,' Dennis said.

The despair which had overwhelmed her slowly ebbed: he loved her, ah he loved her. He was free to enjoy himself with Jeanne, or with others, he loved her. "I love you," he had whispered in her ear, "I love you," so softly it was scarcely audible. "I love you.

She was vanquished, undone, and humiliated that she had moaned.

I wanted to...feel hatred and love, despair and tedium-- all those simple, yet foolish things that make up everyday life but that give pleasure to your existence. If one day I could get out of here, I would allow myself to be crazy, Everyone is indeed crazy, but the craziest are the ones who don't know they are crazy; they just keep repeating what others tell them to.

I'm afraid that if my dream is realized, I'll have no reason to go on living.

there is nothing worse than the feeling that no one cares whether we exist or not, that no one is interested in what we have to say about life, and that the world can continue turning without our awkward presence. I began to imagine how many millions of people were, at that moment, feeling utterly useless and wretched—however rich, charming, and delightful they might be—because they were alone that night, as they were yesterday, and as they might well be tomorrow.

I don't see why I should bother to look for someone who never took the trouble to love me.

suddenly, for no reason, I get into the shower and burst into tears. I can cry there because no one can hear my sobs or ask me the question I hate most: "Are you all right?" Yes, why shouldn't I be? Is there anything wrong with my life? No, nothing. Only the nights that fill me with dread. The days I can't get excited about. The happy images from the past and the things that could have been but weren't. The desire for adventure never fulfilled.

Disappointment,Defeat,Despair are the tools God uses to show us our way... (Paulo Coelho)

But how to explain suffering because of a man? It's not explainable. With that kind of suffering, a person feels as if they're in hell, because there is no nobility, no greatness - only misery.

we all have one foot in a fairytale, and the other in the abyss

I wake up each morning wanting to die before the day is out, but I continue to live, suffering and fighting, fighting and suffering, clinging on to that certainty that it will all end one day.

I can only conclude that worse than hunger or thirst, worse than being unemployed, unhappy in love or defeated and in despair, far worse than any of all those things, is feeling that no one, absolutely no one, cares about us.

i believe in One God,though you think that the gods dwell in those clouds on the Fifth Mountain.i don't want to argue whether my God is stronger or more powerful;I would speak not of our differences but of our similarities.Tragedy has united us in a single sentiment:despair.Why has that come to pass?Because we thought that everything was answered and decided in our souls,and we could accept no changes.

In theory, every loss is for our own good; in practice, though, that is when we question the existence of God and ask ourselves: What did I do to deserve this?

Sometimes love carries us into the abyss, taking with us -- to make matters worse -- the people we love.