Quotes About Despair

Yo agonicé con él, yo morí con él, yo de algún modo me he perdido con él; por eso, fui implacable.

I reread these negative remarks and realize that I do not know whether music can despair of music or marble of marble. I do know that literature is an art that can foresee the time when it will be silenced, an art that can become inflamed with its own virtue, fall in love with its own decline, and court its own demise.

In 1883, an earthquake that lasted ninety seconds shook the south of Italy. In that earthquake, he lost his parents and his sister; he himself was buried by rubble. Two or three hours later, he was rescued. To ward off total despair, he resolved to think about the Universe - a general procedure among the unfortunate, and sometimes a balm.

In a bronze chamber, before the silent handkerchief of the strangler, hope has been faithful to me, as has panic in the river of pleasure.

Uneltele mele de lucru sunt umilin?a ?i angoasa; Ce n-a? da s? m? fi n?scut mort!

There is no poet who is the total voice of love, hate, despair. That is, the great verses of humanity have still not been written. This imperfections should raise our hopes.

This City" (I thought) "is so horrible that its mere existence and perdurance, though in the midst of a secret desert, contaminates the past and the future and in some way even jeopardizes the stars. As long as it lasts, no one in the world can be strong or happy.

There is an entry in Baudelaire's Journal Intime that is fearful in the precision of its cynicism: "One must work, if not from taste then at least from despair. For, to reduce everything to a single truth: work is less boring than pleasure.

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way to all the pangs and fury of despair.

Suicide] is the essence of self-portraiture.

And so every one of us shares the supreme ordeal--carries the cross of the redeemer--not in the bright moments of his tribe's great victories, but in the silences of his personal despair.

It is not society that is to guide and save the creative hero, but precisely the reverse. And so every one of us shares the supreme ordeal --carries the cross of the redeemer--not in the bright moments of his tribe's great victories, but in the silences of his personal despair.

Despair, in short, seeks its own environment as surely as water finds its own level.

In all the endless road you treadThere's nothing but the night.

My mind opened eagerly to meet them, but my soul was already ruined for ever, soiled and dead. It had been bitten by a mean, weak-nerved timidity, like a tick in a dog's ear: you tear it off, but the small head remains to grow again into a complete, loathsome insect.

My heart, have you know wisdom thus to despair? My love, my love, why have you left me alone?

All crimes, all hatreds, all wars can be reduced to unhappiness.

It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above, The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. The nettle nods, the wind blows over, The man, he does not move, The lover of the grave, the lover That hanged himself for love.

Futile: it was an epitaph on his past and an adjective for his tomorrow.

I go to bed and before falling asleep I talk to Lucas in my head the way I have for many years. What I tell him is just about what I usually do. I tell him that if he's dead he's lucky and I'd very much like to be in his place. I tell him that he got the better deal, that it is I who is pulling the greater weight. I tell him that life is totally useless, that it's nonsense, an aberration, infinite suffering, the invention of a non-God whose evil surpasses understanding.

Hay vidas más tristes que el más triste de todos los libros".

And as man turned from the light of day, all that was left to him was the endless night. Without contrast, he threw open his arms, and darkness took hold.

If hearts could shatter, mine just did.

In India we only read about death, sickness, terrorism, crime.