Quotes About Despair

Around that time, I lost interest in college. I could only see blackness

He was dead, that familiar, frightening presence who had never left my heart for a split second. I felt as though the vessel of my suffering had become empty, as if nothing could interest me now. I had lost even the ability to suffer.

Of late a gloomy rain has been falling almost incessantly. Whatever I do depresses me.

I believed that the gloom of our daily lives could not be dispelled, no matter how much one declaimed about society and politics.

Pero la vida de los seres humanos es un infierno y lo cierto es que en este mundo hay poca ducha y muchas desgracias.

Oh, life is too painful, the reality that confirms the universal belief that it is best not to be born. Thus everyday, from morning to night, I wait in despair for something. I wish I could be glad that I was born, that I am alive, that there are people and a world.

When a person falls to the very depths of suffering—where he can find no escape—he is somehow able to find new courage.

Oh, I too am a wretched man. Nobody in this world wants to be my friend. And here I am proud to have caught one single fool like you.

This was the first time in my life that I had become aware of the existence of the wall of despair built of all the many things in the world before which human strength is helpless.

Quero morrer. Quero morrer mais do que tudo. Não há mais chance de recuperação. Não importa o que faça, não importa como faça, estou fadado a falhar e adicionar uma camada de verniz à minha vergonha. Não posso sonhar em ir de bicicleta até uma cascata cercada de folhas verdes. São apenas crimes sujos empilhando-se sobre crimes miseráveis e meu sofrimento só cresce e fica ainda mais violento. Quero morrer. Preciso morrer: viver é uma fonte de pecados.

This novel was doomed from the start. All posture and no substance. Whether I write one page or a hundred, it amounts to the same thing. Though I knew this from the start.

Welcome to Sadness. Population one.

Tak ada satu hal pun yang dapat ku harapkan dari menggugat kepada manusia

Mine has been a life of much shame. I can't even guess myself what it must be like to live the life of a human being.

I have never met the man I could despair of after discerning what lies in me apart from the grace of God.

Beware of outstripping God by your very longing to do His will. We run ahead of Him in a thousand and one activities, becoming so burdened with people and with problems that we do not worship God, and we fail to intercede. If a burden and its resulting pressure come upon us and we are not in an attitude of worship, it will produce a hardness toward God and despair in our own souls.

When a moral person is confronted with contempt, immorality, disloyalty, or dishonesty, he is so repulsed by the offense that he turns away and in despair closes his heart to the offender. But the miracle of the redemptive reality of God is that the worst and the vilest offender can never exhaust the depths of His love.

There will be experiences like this in each of our lives. We will have times of despair caused by real events in our lives, and we will be unable to lift ourselves out of them.

ABELARDO I: [...] Foi a bala do cano que penetrou profundamente, a primeira... As outras rodearam o coração! Que dor... Decerto é porque o coração ficou intacto... O coração, esse útero do homem, onde a gente gera os filhos mais caros... a ambição, o desespero, a vontade de viver... a literatura...

Days, when you could not stroll on the beach, without finding at your feet a corpse, hastily thrust into the loosened sand, for dogs to gnaw and vultures to make their meal, or look across the harbour without seeing some dead body floating, upright and horrible, in the face of the summer sun.

I wonder now that I did not die; but if everything died that is full of wretchedness, your world would soon have but a sparse peopling.

I wasn't exactly much fun to be around. Being with me was like falling into an abyss.

Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.

Do you know what it's like to absolutely, positively, and wholeheartedly hate yourself? Let me say something nice (for a change): I hope not.