Despair Quotes

No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

I hate myself, and I want to die

Show me two villages, one embowered in trees and blazing with all the glories of October, the other a merely trivial and treelesswaste, or with only a single tree or two for suicides, and I shall be sure that in the latter will be found the most starved and bigoted religionists and the most desperate drinkers.

But it's precisely in this cold, loathsome half-despair, half-belief, in this deliberate burying of yourself underground for forty years out of sheer pain, in this assiduously constructed, and yet somewhat dubious hopelessness, in all this poision of unfulfilled desires turned inward, this fever of vacillations, of resolutions adopted for eternity, and of repentances a moment later that you find the very essence of that strange, sharp pleasure.

Yes, there was something special about me, and I knew what it was. I was the kind of girl they found dead in a hall bedroom with an empty bottle of sleeping pills in her hand.

A reason I became a writer was to escape the hopelessness and despair of the real world and enter the world of hope I could create with my imagination.

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.

He who despairs is wrong.

When he has lost all hope, all object in life, man becomes a monster in his misery.

He wanted to be where no one would know who he was. He wanted to escape from himself.

Come away, come away, death,And in sad cypres let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath;I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

To live without Hope is to Cease to live.

An individual in despair despairs over something. . . . In despairing over something, he really despair[s] over himself, and now he wants to get rid of himself. Consequently, to despair over something is still not despair proper. . . . To despair over oneself, in despair to will to be rid of oneself-this is the formula for all despair.

My brain's gone, my soul's worn and my spirit is torn The rest of my body's still bein operated on.

What portion in the world can the artist have, Who has awakened from the common dream, But dissipation and despair?

The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,In forms imaginary, th' unguided daysAnd rotten times that you shall look uponWhen I am sleeping with my ancestors.

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more.

Every day, a little sadder, a little madder. Will someone get me a ladder?

And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself.

I ride rough waters, and shall sink with no one to save me.

How could you communicate with the future? It was impossible. Either the future would resemble the present in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.

She wore far too much rouge last night and not quite enough clothes. That is always a sign of despair in a woman.

Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but ay, And that bare vowel ay shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. I am not I,if there be such an ay, Or those eyes shut,that make thee answer ay: If he be slain say ay,or if not,no: Brief sounds,determine of my weal or woe.

Alienation is a form of living death. It is the acid of despair that dissolves society.

This pleasure comes precisely from the sharpest awareness of your own degradation; from the knowledge that you have gone to the utmost limit; that it is despicable, yet cannot be otherwise; that you no longer have any way out; that you will never become a different man.

Life continues, and some mornings, weary of the noise, discouraged by the prospect of the interminable work to keep after, sickened also by the madness of the world that leaps at you from the newspaper, finally convinced that I will not be equal to it and that I will disappoint everyone - all I want to do is sit down and wait for evening. This is what I feel like, and sometimes I yield to it.

He who has never hoped can never despair

And nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope.

Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!

It is necessary to fall in love... if only to provide an alibi for all the random despair you are going to feel anyway.

Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?

This thought is as a death.

... when the locked door opens, and there comes in a young woman, deadly pale, and with long fair hair, who glides to the fire, and sits down in the chair we have left there, wringing her hands.

Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,' said Denethor. 'Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, foreboding that worse lay in the dregs?

For a while they stood there, like men on the edge of a sleep where nightmare lurks, holding it off, though they know that they can only come to morning through the shadows.

Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn?" Marmeladov's question came suddenly into his mind "for every man must have somewhere to turn.

Doubt is thought's despair; despair is personality's doubt. . . . Doubt and despair . . . belong to completely different spheres; different sides of the soul are set in motion. . . . Despair is an expression of the total personality, doubt only of thought.

They mustn't know my despair, I can't let them see the wounds which they have caused, I couldn't bear their sympathy and their kind-hearted jokes, it would only make me want to scream all the more. If I talk, everyone thinks I'm showing off; when I'm silent they think I'm ridiculous; rude if I answer, sly if I get a good idea, lazy if I'm tired, selfish if I eat a mouthful more than I should, stupid, cowardly, crafty, etc. etc.

Sport can create hope, where once there was only despair

There is no creature loves me;And if I die, no soul will pity me.

The various forms of despair at the various stations on the road.

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us.

Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.

I no longer know If I wish to drown myself in love, vodka or the sea.

No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or grass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me. I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades.

Would I were dead, if God's good will were so,For what is in this world but grief and woe?

A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.

Our reliance on the physician is a kind of despair of ourselves.

I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure; it is a tragedy.

What am I doing here in this endless winter?

One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die. This life appears unbearable, another unattainable. One is no longer ashamed of wanting to die; one asks to be moved from the old cell, which one hates, to a new one, which one willl only in time come to hate. In this there is also a residue of belief that during the move the master will chance to come along the corridor, look at the prisoner and say: "This man is not to be locked up again, He is to come with me.

I never thought before, that there was a woman in the world who could affect me so much by saying so little. But don't be hard in your construction of me. You don't know what my state of mind towards you is. You don't know how you haunt and bewilder me. You don't know how the cursed carelessness that is over-officious in helping me at every other turning of my life WON'T help me here. You have struck it dead, I think, and I sometimes wish you had struck me dead along with it.

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;And if I die no soul will pity me:And wherefore should they, since that I myselfFind in myself no pity to myself?

If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair.

One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.

I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.

People weighed down with troubles do not look back; they know only too well that misfortune stalks them.

Symmetry is ennui, and ennui is the very essence of grief and melancholy. Despair yawns.

You must have a love, a great love, to ensure an alibi at unjustified despairs that conquer all of us

What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen,What old December's bareness everywhere!