Quotes About Despair

Blaze himself was pretty sure he himself was going to hell, as were most other people. It was a dirty world, and the longer you lived, the dirtier you got.

All is amiss. Love is dying, faith's defying, heart's denying.

Money is sad shit

He felt the sadness of Lucifer.

It's hard knowing that one bag of heroin, one mile away, would help me forget it all.

Except I think it feels more like an empty stomach than a broken heart. An aching hollowness that food can't cure. You know. You've felt it yourself, I bet. You hurt all the time, you're restless, you can't think straight, you sort of wish you were dead but what you really want is for everything to be the same as it was when you were still with her.. or him

No longer will you be a weird Robinson Crusoe, imprisoned on an island of night surrounded by oceans of death.

Despite everything he had or might have (except, of course, another human being), life gave no promise of improvement or even of change. The way things shaped up, he would live out his life with no more than he already had. And how many years was that? Thirty, maybe forty if he didn't drink himself to death. The thought of forty more years of living as he was made him shudder

No sabía cuánto tiempo había pasado allí. Al fin, pensó, aun el dolor más profundo se aplaca, la desesperación más intensa se desvanece. La maldición del verdugo: la víctima se acostumbra al látigo.

All without knowing what it was to love and be loved. That was a tragedy more terrible than becoming a vampire.

After a while, though, even the deepest sorrow faltered, even the most penetrating despair lost its scalpel edge. The flagellant's curse, he thought, to grow inured even to the whip.

Rather than go on suffering, he had learned to stultify himself to introspection. Time had lost its multidimensional scope. There was only the present for Robert Neville; a present based on day-to-day survival marked by neither heights of joy nor depths of despair. I am predominantly vegetable, he often thought to himself. That was the way he wanted it.

Tais pensamentos eram um testemunho hediondo do mundo que ele havia aceitado; um mundo no qual assassinar era mais fácil que ter esperanças.

Gladys took a supper tray upstairs to Mother, who said she could not face anybody anymore that night or maybe ever. Lucille was a worse case. She stalked through all the rooms staring up at the ceilings like she was planning to take her cue from Captain Campbell and hang herself from a light fixture.

The blackest despair at the heart of them gets pressed to diamond.

You're the last bearable thing left to me, aside from death.

They tell her: Do not hope or despair or predict or be caught surprised. Never capitulate, but divide, multiply, transform, conjoin, do, and endure as you have all the long day of life.

In that moment, I was not sad about any one thing, but about everything. The tragedies I had witnessed in the previous months all piled up and overflowed into one big, clumped-together sadness and suffering that I couldn't escape. It is what my friend William Paul Young calls the "Great Sadness," a pain so huge and deep, it feels as though it will never end. And yet the sadness was focused not on one particular issue but on all of them at once.

Hope cannot be had by the individual if everything is corporately hopeless. It is hard to heal individuals when the whole thing is seen as unhealable.

the state of mind of the "shipwrecked"3 is perhaps a necessary beginning point for any salvation from such drowning.

Indeed, a good hint that you've entered the realm of Art is that you immediately feel like giving up.

Henry Miller's Air-Conditioned Nightmare

heard his cry but it was like an imagined sound, for it was mingled with the pulse of his life, and it seemed the rain was red blood gushing upon me from the sky, covering my body and mixing with the mud beneath us and around us until we were drowning in a great, thick lake of blood. My mind was empty except for that one thought of red rain steadily falling and then, finally, even that thought grew dim and there was stillness all around me. I

An organic wish to cease to be, to stop living, seized him. Either he was too weak, or the world was too strong; he did not know which. Over and over he had tried to create a world to live in, and over and over he had failed.