Quotes About Despair

I'm so angry,' she said. 'I was all right until you came back. I'd given up. So many terrible things. Relatives, neighbors disappearing. Opa. The bloody Germans coming to...to strip us bare. Oma's silence. Bam, bam, bam. Like being punched over and over again. You get numb. It doesn't hurt anymore. Unless you start to hope. That's the trick, you see: you can take anything unless you start to hope.

He was safe here; this was the place he loved - sanctuary, the paradise of his despair.

You're a Nought and I'm a Cross and there's nowhere for us to be, nowhere for us to go where we'd be left in peace...That's why I started crying. That's why I couldn't stop. For all the things we might've had and all the things we're never going to have.

you experience the one thing that drunks and druggies and all the miserable, lonely, unhappy people in this world share.' 'And what's that?

Undankbarkeit beginnt mit dem Vergessen. Aus Vergessen folgt Gleichgültigkeit, aus der Gleichgültigkeit Unzufriedenheit, aus der Unzufriedenheit Verzweiflung, aus der Verzweiflung der Fluch.

He lifted his head and let it thud several times to the floor. Maybe that would send Reason whimpering back into its cave.

Philosophy invites man out of the vainness of selfishness; out of the sorrow of ignorance and the despair of worldliness; out of the travesty of ambition and the cruel clutches of greed; out of the red hell of hate and the cold tomb of dead idealism.

Le désespoir, c'est comme la prison, la mine ou l'usine. Ça vous lâche jamais.

Pour ma part, même s'il m'était difficile de l'admettre, je menais la vie de ceux qui choisissent obstinément de mourir, mais qui espèrent que le monde se chargera de la besogne.

J'avais cru tout quitter pour vivre mieux, je m'étais trompé... c'était pour mourir plus vite.

Desencanto Eu faço versos como quem chora De desalento... de desencanto... Fecha o meu livro, se por agora Não tens motivo nenhum de pranto. Meu verso é sangue. Volúpia ardente... Tristeza esparsa... remorso vão... Dói-me nas veias. Amargo e quente, Cai, gota a gota, do coração. E nestes versos de angústia rouca Assim dos lábios a vida corre, Deixando um acre sabor na boca. - Eu faço versos como quem morre.

João Gostoso era carregador de feira livre e morava no morro da Babilônia num barracão sem número Uma noite ele chegou no bar Vinte de Novembro Bebeu Cantou Dançou Depois se atirou na lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas e morreu afogado.

La vejez es la más grande de las desgracias de la humanidad, una enfermedad crónica que debe ser combatida por el progreso de la ciencia».

Debemos defender a los ídolos que creamos, para defendernos a nosotros mismos, para no desesperarnos

Estoy muy cansado, Valentín. Estoy cansado de sufrir. Vos no sabés, me duelte todo por dentro. - ¿ Adónde te duele? - Adentro del pecho, y en la garganta - ¿ Porque será que la tristeza se siente siempre ahí?

las luces apagadas para evitar verse, tres ciegos reunidos a la hora más triste del día

Tendría que estar muerto y no lo estoy. Pero a pesar de no estarlo, me encuentro en el infierno.

Often, as I reflected on this story, it seemed to me a kind of image of my own life—the life of a man who gorged himself on pessimism, believing he would find in it a means to a dazzling and meteoric existence, loving his own despair until the day he realized—too late—that he could no longer emerge from it, and that he had thus fallen into the trap of his own enchantments.

Hast du schon mal das Gefühl gehabt dass die Welt dich im Stich läst,den Eindruck dsas das Zimmer indem du dich befindest immer kleiner wird,die Überzeigung das deine Kleider über Nacht gealtert,dass dein Bild in jedem Spiegel dein Elend reflektiert & dass dir das Gefühl zu glauben das dich nichts und niemand liebt & das du nichts liebst & das dieses Nichts die Leere deiner Existenz ist?

Years ago I did a particularly angry set onstage. I talked about AIDS, the end of the world, and how silly and hopeless life was. A guy came up to me after the show and asked, "Why comedy?" That was all he said. I was dumbfounded.

there misery and calamity have begun'.

Ah, yes, it's the Soubeyrans...Three mad, three hanged, and me all alone with a no-good leg....And nobody after me...Nobody, nobody, nobody...

It was evident to me then that I existed in the same manner as all other men, that I must grow old, that I must die like them, and that among them I was to be distinguished merely as one of those who have no aptitude for writing. And so, utterly despondent, I renounced literature for ever,

I should have been struck down by the despair a young lover feels who has sworn lifelong fidelity, when a friend speaks to him of the other mistresses he will have in time to come.