Quotes About Despair

Everything here was mean and dirty, the people ate worms.

In the beginning, deep in the papyrus, we hoped help would come. But God Himself showed that He had forgotten us, so all the more reason for the Whites to do the same.

It's a physical urge, stronger than thirst or sex. Halfway back on the left side of my head there is a spot that longs for the jolt of a bullet, that yearns for that fire, that final empty rip. I want to be let out of this cavern, to open myself up to the ease of not-living. I am tired of sorrow and struggle and worry. I am tired of my sad sister. I want to turn out the last light.

What makes old age so sad is not that our joys but our hopes cease.

My only hope lies in my despair.

I cherished you inconstant; what would I have done, faithful? Now, even now, when your cruel mouth so calmly speaks my death sentence, I wonder, cold wretch, I wonder still, if I do not love you.

God, that dumping ground of our dreams.

On the way back something very strange happened. I didn't realize I was going to say it, but I said out loud, "I wish I was dead"... the love and the beauty and the ecstasy of the whole experience I'd just gone through were really so alien. I didn't even know the man... it had been a one-night jag... he was married and had children... and I just felt lost. It hardly seemed worth living any more because once again I was alone.

What would it have mattered? What does any of it matter? You don't have to look at me like that! I'm not mad! I know what's going on . . . we'd all of us be better dead!' There was a long silence; then Shahid, grimly, said: 'I expect, very soon, we all shall be.

Karim s'adossa au mur, pris d'un vertige. Puis il scruta sa montre. Il avait bien tué deux heures. Mais ces heures l'avaient tué en retour.

Quando não há esperança, sempre fica o orgulho.

After that, we weren't the same anymore. We'd become men. Disillusioned and cynical. Slightly bitter too. We had nothing. We hadn't even learned a trade. No future. Nothing but life. But life without a future is worse than no life at all.

Hell is wet and cold and black and lost. Her brain tap-dances and contracts,

Lydia knows she's increased their chances of survival. She needs to take encouragement where she can find it. She mustn't despair at the enormity of the task yet ahead. She should focus only on the immediate next steps.

The depth of her feeling surprises her, because how can she have any leftover grief available for other people, for Paola's murdered nephew? But there it is—an anguish that makes her feel hollow in the bones, despair for a beautiful boy Lydia never met.

Every one of them, once or twice at least, every one of them despairs. The only thought that sustains them is the notion that each moment they endure this misery is one less moment they have yet to endure.

There are twenty-three migrants here, and despair has settled into their features like a powdery dust.

The world was a sick animal, a sort of huge cancerous tumour, a thing of bubbling liquids, whitish patches, dribbling pus, fantastic pimples of dead skin that grew in all directions, swelled up, became more and more like fuzzy hair. The right thing would be to go away, to vanish for ever from the face of the sun.

Nu se murea sub bombele englezilor È™i ale americanilor. Dar se murea încetul cu încetul, din nemâncare, din lips? de aer, din lips? de libertate, se murea pentru c? oamenii nu mai visau. Marea era doar o dung? albastr? în zare, printre palmieri, pe deasupra acoperiÈ™urilor roÈ™ii.

And depression settled over the kitchen like a wet fog.

Life begins on the other side of despair.

Smooth and smiling faces everywhere, but ruin in their eyes.

When you become so dissatisfied with your office that the hundred story plummet and the sidewalk seem like the better option, so dissatisfied that you actually hurl yourself out the window, then you know the level of dissatisfaction necessary to awaken from delusion.

Hope's interesting, isn't it? I can't turn hope off, it's hopeless.