Quotes About Despair

I loved having these guys with me and making love to them. Their warm bodies were under my complete control, but after killing them, I felt empty, and the task of disposing their bodies was no easy job. When it was done, I felt empty and alone.

Mary had the same face as ma used to have sitting staring into the ashes it was funny that face it slowly grew over the other one until one day you looked and the person you knew was gone. And instead there was a half-ghost sitting there who had only one thing to say: All the beautiful things of this world are lies. They count for nothing in the end.

thinking must invariably and without exception generate and sustain fear, despair, malice, loneliness, frustration, countless shades of unhappiness?

Soon enough the tears came but of course nobody came down to see if she was all right, it was just the slut in the kitchen who'd ruined their lives, getting drunk of neat gin and howling for her lost lunatic offer.

Yer the only friend I got, pigpiss... Ain't that the biggest tragedy you ever heard?

If you ever see a war," she says, not looking up from her clipboard, "you'll learn that war only destroys. No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors.

And the pain is too much it's too much it's too much and my hands are on my head and I'm rearing back and my mouth is open in a never-ending wordless wail of all the blackness that's inside me. And i fall back into it.

Do you believe there's hope at the end?" I ask. "No," she says simply, looking away. "No, I don't, but I'm still going.

I remember the ache I used to feel when she got too close, how it felt like grief, how it felt like a loss, like I was falling, falling into nothing, how it clenched me up and made me want to weep, made me actually weep.

I hate myself so much I want to stick a knife in my heart.

I hate myself. I feel like an idiot saying it because, blah, blah, teen angst, boo hoo, but I do. I hate myself. Almost all the time. I try not to tell anyone because I don't want to burden them, but I feel like I'm falling farther and farther away from them. Like the well's getting deeper and I'm running out of energy to climb it and any minute now, any second , it's going to stop being worth even trying.

I thought Gudmund being taken away was the worst thing could ever happen to me, but it wasn't. The worst was finding out he was never really all mine in the first place. And so, for a moment, for a terrible, unbelievably shitty afternoon in a shitty little town on the shitty, freezing coast of Washington, I had nothing. There wasn't anything more, and the one good thing that was mine wasn't mine after all.

If you ever see a war," she says, not lookng up from her clipboard, "you'll learn that war only destroys. No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors. You accept things that would appall you at any other time because life has temporarily lost all meaning.

He really is alone in whatever hell this is. Completely and utterly alone. 'It isn't,' he thinks, as he trudges back toward his house, 'the most unfamiliar feeling in the world.

He looks up and the loss in his Noise is so great it feels like i'm standing on the edge of an Abyss, that I'm about to fall down into him, into blackness so empty and lonely there'd never be a way out.

I'm too busy repeatedly counting ketchup bottles and wishing I was dead, wishing I was dead, wishing I was dead, wishing I was dead.

And the pain is too much it's too much it's too much and my hands are on my head and I'm rearing back and my mouth is open in a never-ending wordless wail of all the blackness that's inside of me.

It was like looking into the most despairing kind of madness, a madness that only felt hurt and pain, a madness that therefore could only act in hurt and pain.

Despair was one thing, despair had a component of energy, despair grappled and fought, despair needed you alive to feel its pain, but sadness, sadness was something else altogether. Sadness was a slow vampire. Sadness reached in and uncorked you like a full tub. Sadness was the parasite that killed its host.

My heart is broken, broken in a way that will never be healed, broken in a way that feels like it's going to kill me, too, right here on this stupid, freezing beach

Stephen had spared no expense in making himself more unhappy, his own position as a rejected lover clearer.

Like a lot of people who use heroin, she found a certain glamour in it, until she didn't. She used the drug on and off for years, but in the late 1980s, it took over.

She was weary and disappointed with all of everything.

I guess I'm doomed to die loveless.