Quotes About Despair

The moment when a limit is reached, when there is nothing ahead but darkness: something comes in to help that is not real. Another way all this is like madness: a mad person not helped out of his trouble by anything real begins to trust what is not real because it helps him and he needs it because real things continue not to help him.

Ela deixou pender os braços desamparados dentro das mangas do hábito, inclinou a cabeça e ficou pensativa, olhando para dentro de si mesma. E o que vê não deve ser animador.

What a sad world sin had caused.

He sighed forlornly and lifted

The Gotha sermon takes us closer than any other testimony to the religious despair and overwhelming sinfulness that Luther felt as a monk. And it was at this point that he had begun to study Paul's Letter to the Romans, an intellectual and devotional exercise that would transform his spirituality.

Unfortunately, many Americans live on the outskirts of hope—some because of their poverty, and some because of their color, and all too many because of both. Our task is to help replace their despair with opportunity. This administration today, here and now, declares unconditional war on poverty in America.

Bitterness is one of the deadliest emotions we ever feel. You can't look forward when you're bitter, only backward—thinking about what you've lost, stuck in the past, despairing because it's gone. In the end, it devours all hope.

Bitterness is one of the deadliest emotions we ever feel. You can't look forward when you're bitter, only backward - thinking about what you've lost, stuck in the past, despairing because it's gone. In the end, it devours all hope.

Nothing is as horrendous as imagining the times of happiness from an environment which is that of hell.

which also makes me feel powerless to change.

Alone! -- that worn-out word, So idly spoken, and so coldly heard; Yet all that poets sing and grief hath known Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word ALONE!

Hope, belief, and despair are not simply moods. They change our physical performance. They alter how quickly we react, how hard we fight, how quick we are to give up. - Symphony for the City of the Dead: Dmitri Shostakovich and the Siege of Leningrad

We all lose dreams and cherished people, which could make life a continual experience in despair. But if we lean on the great two-thousand-year-old faith of the church, then life is a continual experience of the salvation of God, to whom we belong. In God's hands nothing, and no one, is ever lost. Our only comfort. According

there is endless despair at the centre of every narcissistic self-portrait.

The worst thing in the world is to be inside yourself, you don't even want to be rescued.

When I remember my despair now, and I do remember it, what surprises me still is that I survived it. That is the mystery of our lives. That we do survive the unthinkable. We overcome the unimaginable.

Never rely on a husband for your happiness. The government persecute men, then men persecute their wives in return. And what do the wives do? If they have a child, they slap it to let off steam. If not, they drown themselves or swallow bottles of pesticide.

When the people around you have lost their will to be free, then earth becomes a hell.

We relished the small freedoms granted to us, but wanted more. We read Ginsberg's Howl, and longed for the day when we too could sing out of our windows in despair.

The pleasures of the world are deceitful; they promise more than they give. They trouble us in seeking them, they do not satisfy us when possessing them and they make us despair in losing them.

When he was gone, would I be like Achilles, wailing over his lost lover Patroclus? I tried to picture myself running up and down the beaches, tearing at my hair, cradling some scrap of old tunic he had left behind. Crying out for the loss of half my soul. I could not see it. That knowledge brought its own sort of pain.

Then the best part of him died, and he was even more difficult after that. [...] "What was his best part?" "His lover, Patroclus. He didn't like me much, but then the good ones never do. Achilles went mad when he died; nearly mad, anyway.

I cannot bear this world a moment longer. Then, child, make another.

He weeps as he lifts me into our bed. My corpse sags; it's warm in the tent, and the smell will come soon. He does not seem to care. He holds me all night long, pressing my cold hands to his mouth.