Quotes About Despair

Losing Foxen was bad. It would leave her blind and lonely in the dark. Being trapped beneath the pipes and choking out her life was awful too. But neither of those things were wrong.

Bast's eyes were now the pale blue-white of lightning, his voice tight and fierce. "And I swear by the night and sky and the ever-moving moon: if you lead my master to despair, I will slit you open and splash around like a child in a puddle. I'll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it while I dance.

She hoped the greedy thing shit for a week. She hoped it shit its awful self inside-out and backward, then fell into a crack and lost its name and died alone and hollow-empty in the angry dark.

Me di la vuelta, mientras se me pintaba una sonrisa en la cara. Siempre me pasaba lo mismo: solo la encontraba cuando había abandonado toda esperanza

She didn't fall, but oh, her heart went icy in her chest. She sat down hard upon the steps. Too numb to walk. Her heart was cold and white as chalk.

There is no joy!" Lanre shouted in an awful voice. Stones shattered at the sound and the sharp edges of echo came back to cut at them. "Any joy that grows here is quickly choked by weeds. I am not some monster who destroys out of a twisted pleasure. I sow salt because the choice is between weeds and nothing." Selitos saw nothing but emptiness behind his eyes.

He was so full of disgust, disgust at the world and at himself, that he could not weep.

And finally - he was neither able nor willing to prevent it - the self-loathing dammed up inside him spilled over and gushed out, gushed out of glaring eyes that grew ever grimmer, angrier, beneath the rim of his cap, flooding the outside world as perfect, vulgar hate.

Cet homme paraissait être tellement fatigué de sa vie qu'il ne voulait même pas vivre ses dernières heures éveillé.

Sus excrementos era todo lo que daba al mundo; ni una sonrisa, ni un grito, ni un destello en la mirada, ni siquiera el propio olor.

There was only one thing the perfume could not do. It could not turn him into a person who could love and be loved like everyone else. So, to hell with it he thought. To hell with the world. With the perfume. With himself

The wind blew cold, and he was freezing, but he did not notice that he was freezing, for within him was a counterfrost, fear.

Now things sucked worse than a vampire after a four day fast. Only

And as far as false hope, there is no such thing. There is only hope or the absence of hope-nothing else.

It occurred to me that I was on a run of suicides. Akutagawa. Dazai. Plath. Death by water, barbiturates, and carbon monoxide poisoning; three fingers of oblivion, outplaying everything.

My love for him could not save him. His love for life could not save him. It was the first time that I truly knew he was going to die.

What Salinger found when he examined their world in a fiercely realistic way was an assemblage of unhappy people living unfulfilled lives.

In the end, the art of hunger can be described as an existential art. It is a way of looking death in the face, and by death I mean death as we live it today: without God, without hope of salvation. Death as the abrupt and absurd end of life

Pero cuando la fe desaparece, cuando comprendes que ni siquiera te queda las esperanza de recuperar la esperanza, entonces tiendes a llenar los espacios vacíos con sueños, pequeña fantasías y cuentos infantiles que te ayuden a sobrevivir.

It was too small a step, somehow, too puny a thing to settle for after having lost so much. So the courtship continued, and the more Tom came to despise his job, the more stubbornly he defended his own inertia; and the more inert he became, the more he despised himself.

Bir ölüm ferman? ç?karmak zaten yeterince kötüydü, ama ölmü? bir adam için çal??mak en az onun kadar kötüydü.

Não, não vou fingir que o divórcio não é uma coisa cruel. É um sofrimento indescritível, um desespero que dá cabo de nós, uma raiva diabólica, para além daquela nuvem constante de mágoa na cabeça que, pouco a pouco, se vai transformando numa espécie de luto, como se, de facto, estivéssemos a chorar por um morto

She's too sad to be beautiful. No one that sad can still be beautiful.

Dread has become fact. Innocence has turned into guilt, and hope is a word that rhymes with despair.