Quotes About Despair

The thought of people reading in the sun, on a beach, tempts me to recommend dark books, written in the shadow of loneliness, despair, and death. Let these revelers feel a chill as they loll on their towels.

I had conceived of lovemaking as a sort of asking and answering of questions, but with us it only led to further questions, until we seemed to be locked in a philosophical debate. Instead of the proverbial sadness after sex, I felt something like a semantic despair.

Without lies, humanity would perish of despair and boredom

But canst thou only die, withered embryo, foetus steeped in gall and scalding tears? Miserable abortion, dost thou think thou canst taste death, thou who hast never known life? If only God exists, that he may damn me. I hope for it. I wish it. God, I hate Thee! dost Thou hear? Overwhelm me with Thy damnation. To compel Thee to, I spit in Thy face. I must find an eternal hell, to exhaust the eternity of rage which consumes me.

What's the good of these great fragile fits of enthusiasm, these jaded jumps of joys? We know nothing anymore, but the dead stars; we gaze at their faces; and we gasp with pleasure. Our mouths are dry as the lost beaches, and our eyes turn aimlessly and without hope. Now all that remain are these cafés where we meet to drink these cool drinks, these diluted spirits, and the tables are stickier than the pavements where our shadows of the day before have fallen.

There's only one woman left in the absence of thought that characterizes in pure black this cursed era.

Les hommes désespèrent stupidement de l'amour - j'en ai désespéré - ils vivent asservis à cette idée que l'amour est toujours derrière eux, jamais devant eux : les siècles passés, le mensonge de l'oubli à vingt ans. Ils supportent, ils s'aguerrissent à admettre surtout que l'amour ne soit pas pour eux, avec son cortège de clartés, ce regard sur le monde qui est fait de tous les yeux de devins.

Ce que j'appelle désespoir, philosophiquement, est très proche de ce que Freud, à sa façon et d'un autre point de vue, appelle le travail de deuil. Ce n'est pas du tout un travail de la tristesse ! Le but du deuil, c'est la joie.

Não é porque Deus existe que devo agir bem; é porque devo agir bem que posso necessitar - não para ser virtuoso, mas para escapar do desespero - de crer em Deus.

From the satisfaction of desire there may arise, accompanying joy and as it were sheltering behind it, something not unlike despair.

Parfois, il est vrai, le coeur veut crever de chagrin. Mais souvent aussi, le soir de préférence, je ne puis m'empêcher de penser qu'Ernie Levy, mort six millions de fois, est encore vivant, quelque part, je ne sais où... Hier, comme je tremblais de désespoir au milieu de la rue, cloué au sol, une goutte de pitié tomba d'en haut sur mon visage; mais il n'y avait nul souffle dans l'air, aucun nuage dans le ciel... il n'y avait qu'une présence.

Dat's what they say of this cauntry back home, Kath: 'America, the land of milk and honey.' Bot they never tell you the milk's gone sour and the honey's stolen.

Precisely the hopelessness of the situation constituted the nobility of this resistance.

Hakikat umuttur. Cehennem tüm hakikatin terk edildi?i yerdir.

Christ, I'm in Hell and they wear uniforms.

The point is that we are not doomed because we are homosexual, my dear, we are doomed only if we live in despair because of it, as we did on the beaches and the streets of Suck City.

The more beautiful the sky, the more hopeless the neighborhood.

I am in fact so depressed that last night while Bob Cjaneovic was sitting on my face, I began to think how futile life is, no matter what you do—it all ends in Death, we are given such a short time, and everything truly is, as Ecclesiastes says, Vanity, Vanity, Vanity.

He saw in that instant a life he could not conceive of opening before him, a hopeless abyss. Either way he was doomed: He did what was wrong, and condemned himself, or he did what was right, and remained a ghost.

This is my favorite sin: despair.

Most of us have days or weeks or months so awful, we wish we'd never been born.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

I realize that I live on the bubble of insanity. I feel the weight of human suffering, loneliness and despair on me all the time. It's not getting easier; if anything, it's always right on the edge of my skin.

I speak of a clinical depression that is the background of your entire life, a background of anguish and anxiety, a sense that nothing goes well, that pleasure is unavailable and all your strategies collapse.