Quotes About Despair

One of the key symptoms of depression is to see no hope. No future. Far from the tunnel having light at the end of it, it seems like it is blocked at both ends, and you are inside it. So if I could have only known the future, that there woudl be one far brighter than anything I'd experienced, then one end of that tunnel would have been blown to peices, and I could have faced the light.

Parecía que ni siquiera morir se le daba bien a Nora. Era una sensación familiar, la de sentirse incompleta en casi todos los sentidos posibles. Un rompecabezas humano sin terminar. Una vida inconclusa y una muerte inconclusa también

I wanted to be dead. No. That's not quite right. I didn't want to be dead. I just didn't want to be alive.

Oh fuck,' whispered Nora, into the cold.

Dear Whoever, I had all the chances to make something of my life, and I blew every one of them. Through my own carelessness and misfortune, the world has retreated from me, and so now it makes perfect sense that I should retreat from the world. If I felt it was possible to stay, I would. But I don't. And so I can't. I make life worse for people. I have nothing to give. I'm sorry.

Albert Camus said, "There is no love of life without despair of life.

the basis of depression as well as the difference between fear and despair. Fear was when you wandered into a cellar and worried that the door would close shut. Despair was when

the basis of depression as well as the difference between fear and despair. Fear was when you wandered into a cellar and worried that the door would close shut. Despair was when the door closed and locked behind you.

But I have found over the years that by reading about other people who have suffered, survived, and overcome despair, I have felt comforted. It has given me hope.

I make life worse for people. I have nothing to give. I'm sorry.

You get near a black hole and the gravitational pull drags you into its bleak, dark reality.

I read news websites—another distraction—and my mind couldn't take it. The knowledge of so much suffering in the world didn't help put my pain in perspective. It just made me feel powerless. And pathetic that my invisible woes were so paralyzing when there were so many visible woes in the world. My despair intensified. So I decided to do something. I disconnected.

Because life is frightening, and it is frightening for a reason, and the reason is that it doesn't matter which branch of a life we get to live, we are always the same rotten tree. I wanted to be many things in my life. All kinds of things. But if your life is rotten, it will be rotten no matter what you do. The damp rots the whole useless thing . . .

Yesterday I knew I had no future, and that it was impossible for me to accept my life as it is now. And yet today, that same messy life seems full of hope. Potential. The impossible, I suppose, happens via living. Will my life be miraculously free from pain, despair, grief, heartbreak, hardship, loneliness, depression? No. But do I want to live? Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.

Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.

Because thou must not dream, thou need not despair.

No, thou art come too late, Empedocles! And the world hath the day, and must break thee, Not thou the world. With men thou canst not live, Their thoughts, their ways, their wishes, are not thine; And being lonely thou art miserable, For something has impair'd they spirit's strength, And dried its self-sufficing font of joy.

Vain is the effort to forget. Some day I shall be cold, I know, As is the eternal moonlit snow Of the high Alps, to which I go-- But ah, not yet, not yet! Vain is the agony of grief. 'Tis true, indeed, an iron knot Ties straitly up from mine thy lot, And were it snapt--thou lov'st me not! But is despair relief?

When men's spirits are sinking every thing helps to sink them.

The point is our actions can tip the balance between hope and despair.

His noble negligences teachWhat others' toils despair to reach.

he had impressed her as a man delightfully open to suggestion, with an imagination large enough to find time, even in the depths of despair, for the important things in life, those accidents without which our existence was little more than a schedule of dry routines.

Stuart must have sensed my despair from the way I began lightly banging my forehead on the table.

My sense of touch was floating six feet away from me; if anyone entered my room, I would cry out, but the knife was serenely cutting me up. Yes, I became a skeleton. At night my thinness would rise up before me to terrify me. As it came and went it insulted me, it tired me out; oh, I was certainly very tired.