Quotes About Despair

simply by our proximity to Jesus, we can bring hope and life to people and places trapped in discouragement and despair.

It is impossible to say precisely what will constitute the punishment of the wicked. Positively, it may be said that they will be totally deprived of the divine favor, will experience an endless disturbance of life, will suffer positive pains in body and soul, and will be subject to pangs of conscience, anguish, despair, and weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Most people die at the last minute; others twenty years beforehand, some even earlier. They are the wretched of the earth.

Most people die at the last minute others 20 years beforehand, some even earlier. They are the wretched of the earth.

She did not read, she did nothing at all, and hours went by during which even her thoughts came to a standstill. At times she would abruptly throw herself on the floor and lie there pressing her face to the carpet with her eyes tightly closed, until a knock at the door – the maid bringing her lunch tray – made her scramble to her feet in sudden fright.

in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.

Hope offered, then denied. A particular cruelty.

What killed people wasn't a bullet, a blade, a fist to the face. What killed people was a feeling. Left too long. Sometimes in the cold, frozen. Sometimes buried and fetid. And sometimes on the shores of a lake, isolated. Left to grow old, and odd.

I saw a lot of men die there. Most men. Do you know what killed them?"…"Despair," said Finney. "They believed themselves to be prisoners. I lived with those men, ate the same maggot-infested food, slept in the same beds, did the same back-breaking work. But they died and I lived. Do you know why?" "You were free." "I was free. Milton was right…the mind is its own place. I was never a prisoner. Not then, not now.

How did you know He was God?' Gamache asked. 'When does a bush that burns become a Burning Bush?' Em asked and Gamache nodded. 'My despair disappeared. The grief remained, of course, but I knew then that the world wasn't a dark and desperate place. I was so relieved. In that moment I found hope. This strnager with the sign had given it to me. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but suddenly the gloom was lifted.' She paused a moment, remembering, a smile on her face.

They don't teach this at medical school, but I've seen it in real life. People dying in bits and pieces. A series of petites morts. Little deaths. They lose their sight, their hearing, their independence. Those are the physical ones. But there're others. Less obvious, but more fatal. They lose heart. They lose hope. They lose faith. They lose interest. And finally, they lose themselves.

Fear might stop some people from committing murder, but he knew for certain fear was what drove most people to kill. It was what nested below all the other emotions. It was what twisted and turned the other emotions into something sick. It was an alchemist and could turn daylight into night, joy into despair. Fear, once taken root, blocked the sun. And Gamache knew what grew in that darkness. He searched for it every day.

They'd crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn't. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighs. And they knew something the rest didn't. They knew how lucky the rest of the world was.

They'd crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn't. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighs.

Screw off. Leave me alone!' Now she rounded on him. 'Where're your tears? Eh? You're more dead than she is. You can't even cry. And now what? You want me to stop? It hasn't even been a day yet, and you're what? Bored with it? Not the center of the universe anymore? You want everything to go back to the way it was, like that.' Clara snapped her fingers in his face. 'You disgust me.

But the woman he knew and loved had been swallowed up. Like Jonah. Her white whale of sorrow and loss in an ocean of body fluid.

Lying all night, holding Clara, he'd dared to hope that the worst was over. That maybe the grief, while still there, would today allow some of his wife to be present. But the woman he knew and loved had been swallowed up. Like Jonah.

Lying all night, holding Clara, he'd dared to hope that the worst was over. That maybe the grief, while still there, would today allow some of his wife to be present. But the woman he knew and loved had been swallowed up. Like Jonah. Her white whale of sorrow and loss in an ocean of body fluid.

you said that Hell is empty and all the devils are here. What did you mean?

fear was what drove most people to kill. It was what nested below all the other emotions. It was what twisted and turned the other emotions into something sick. It was an alchemist and could turn daylight into night, joy into despair. Fear, once taken root, blocked the sun. And Gamache knew what grew in that darkness. He searched for it every day.

The old Hadley house was abandoned now. Had been empty for months. But Peter knew it wasn't empty. For one thing he'd left part of himself in it. Not a hand or a nose or a foot, thank God. But things that had no substance but fantastic weight. He'd left his hope there, and trust. He'd left his faith there too. What little he had, he'd lost. There. Peter

Fear might stop some people from committing murder, but he knew for certain fear was what drove most people to kill. It was what nested below all the other emotions. It was what twisted and turned the other emotions into something sick. It was an alchemist and could turn daylight into night, joy into despair. Fear, once taken root, blocked the sun.

However, I will never feel anything again. Good. I am done with love. It's a mug's game. I am just going to sit in my room for the rest of my life not doing stuff.

When it becomes really impossible to get away and sleep, then the will to live evaporates of its own accord.