Quotes About Despair

I'm so dopesick, my tears taste like urine. It's as if the air itself were made of broken glass. I try to stop twitching. To stay still, to stop my very breath, let the pain stay inside. The slightest movement grinds tiny shards into my pores. Breathing is like gulping from a bag of claws. I want to die. Want to pass out. Want to stop...this...fucking...feeling.

This was the history of the world. Recovery and collapse, despair and relief. The dialectic of clean and dirty. Every time is worse than the time before. The bad things come, days and nights and days and nights get so unbelievably fucked up, unbelievably fast, but in the end-- if there is an end-- everybody's best self just slogs forward, one stagger, one fall, one day, one 'what the fuck just happened?' moment of oblivion and soul-broken joy at a time. All we have to do is not die.

Nothing ever turns me on so much in a woman as unhappiness.

He flushed with sadness, as if every moment of his life were occurring all at once—his sister dying in childbirth, his mother squirming in that one-room flop, poor Danny sliding between wet logs, Gig in jail, and Jules dead—and how many more? All people, except this rich cream, living and scraping and fighting and dying, and for what, nothing, the cold millions with no chance in this world.

cruelty and hope should never be served together.

Maybe all love is hopeless.

I sit in front of the notebook and feel like it's just too late for me. And that this book isn't working, nothing's working, everything feels like it's made of spiders.

I sit in front of the notebook and feel like it's just too late for me. And that this book isn't working, nothing's working, everything feels like it's made of spiders." Those

Eventually, my tears give out, my voice goes, and my throat is so raw that my body battles against my mind and shuts down my crying. There is nothing left in me now.

Her enthusiasm, her optimism, her hope? They were all so far from where he was.

soft, moist air and bouts of low pressure blamed for headaches and illnesses and despair. A brisk autumn wind blew off the Alps

Sometimes...you can cry until there's nothing wet in you. You can scream and curse to where your throat rebels and ruptures. You can pray, all you want, to whatever god you think will listen. And, still it makes no difference. It goes on, with no sign as to when it might release you. And you know that if it ever did relent...it would not be because it cared.

A woman who had fallen out of love with her life

And she refused to go to that miserable place he had dragged her to so many times, to hope for a thing that was unchangeable.

But even as she was going through with it she knew it was useless, just as it was useless to save a single earring when the other half of the pair was lost

He looked at her, in her red plaid skirt and strawberry T-shirt, a woman not yet thirty, who loved neither her husband nor her children, who had already fallen out of love with life.

And she refused to go to that miserable place that Julian had dragged her to so many times, to hope for a thing that was unchangeable.

A lot of my work comes from a place of despair or fear. I often write in order to gain some sort of control over aspects of my life or the world that seem too dark to look at directly.

Those whom fortune has never favored are more joyful than those whom she has deserted.

She put a wedge beside my heart And then she brought the mallet down She sang no song to guide her work I lost my heart without a sound

With the need for the self in the time of another / I left my seaport grim and dear / knowing good work could be made / in the state governed by both Hope and Despair.

If pessimism is despair, optimism is cowardice and stupidity. Is there any need to choose between them?

To watch powerlessly while a loved one slowly gets weaker is awful. To grieve and at the same time to make the most of each day. Of the time one still has. One prepares oneself consciously and unconsciously for the loss one knows will come. In despair one can be anything but sympathetic and tolerant.

Happiness is just an illusion filled with sadness and confusion