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Depression Quotes

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Depression Quotes

“Every gesture and every look he gives me takes me by surprise and causes my heart to stutter.”

ArtRomanceArtistWaterReaderDepressionHotSuicideYoung AdultAloneCuteParisWriterAbandonYoung Adult FictionAbandonedTeen FictionRomance NovelsTeenHostileYoung Adult RomanceRomance NovelTeen RomanceWriters LifeBookwormBridgeEiffel TowerCar CrashYoung Adult ContemporaryCute MomentRomance HumorSketchDrawCute Things Guys SayYoung Adult Contemporary RomanceTeen BookYoung Adult BookCute GuysParis At NightScared OfScared Young LoveTeen Contemporary RomanceAlone In ParisLock BridgeSketch Artist
Book:Alone in Paris
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“I head in the direction of the Eiffel Tower when I exit the alley, relieved to be out of the dark.”

ArtRomanceArtistWaterReaderDepressionHotSuicideYoung AdultAloneCuteParisWriterAbandonYoung Adult FictionAbandonedTeen FictionRomance NovelsTeenHostileYoung Adult RomanceRomance NovelTeen RomanceWriters LifeBookwormBridgeEiffel TowerCar CrashYoung Adult ContemporaryCute MomentRomance HumorSketchDrawCute Things Guys SayYoung Adult Contemporary RomanceTeen BookYoung Adult BookCute GuysParis At NightScared OfScared Young LoveTeen Contemporary RomanceAlone In ParisLock BridgeSketch Artist
Book:Alone in Paris
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“I take in all the colorful locks that line the bridge. Each one told a story. Each lock represented a relationship that was once special, whether it ended or turned into true happiness. The locks represented a past, present, and a possible future.”

ArtRomanceArtistWaterReaderDepressionHotSuicideYoung AdultAloneCuteParisWriterAbandonYoung Adult FictionAbandonedTeen FictionRomance NovelsTeenHostileYoung Adult RomanceRomance NovelTeen RomanceWriters LifeBookwormBridgeEiffel TowerCar CrashYoung Adult ContemporaryCute MomentRomance HumorSketchDrawCute Things Guys SayYoung Adult Contemporary RomanceTeen BookYoung Adult BookCute GuysParis At NightScared OfScared Young LoveTeen Contemporary RomanceAlone In ParisLock BridgeSketch Artist
Book:Alone in Paris
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“When we step onto the bridge, Nathan turns and spreads his arms out wide. ‘Welcome to Pont des Arts, a.k.a. The Lock Bridge.”

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Book:Alone in Paris
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“I freeze, my feet suddenly glued to the floor. It takes me a minute to gather the courage to turn around, but when I do, I immediately wish I hadn't. The boy is standing in the doorway at the end of the hall. Why is he here again? I barely allow myself time to ask the question before I move. Panicked, I turn and run back downstairs as fast as I can. "Hey! Wait!" he calls after me. I don't stop.”

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Book:Alone in Paris
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“The boy took my sketchbook.”

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Book:Alone in Paris
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“I took him to the river and said “let’s watch something drown,” So he took a stone and I took my necklace and we threw it all together, the way I always think I will get better in July. Things will change and sounds won’t ache and I gave my heart to uncertainty so many times, and so I took him to the river, threw the necklace in the river to slowly watch it drown, or burn, or fade away like I’ve done so many times.”

HeartTogetherYoungPoetryYouthSadDepressionRecoveryAloneGet BetterProseAcheJulyRiverFade AwayBurnTimesStoneSoundsDrownNecklace
Book:You're Doing Just Fine
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“Whatever you are physically, male or female, strong or weak, ill or healthy - all those things matter less than what your heart contains. If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. Whatever the color, the shape, the design of the shade that conceals it, the flame inside the lamp remains the same. YOU are the flame. That's what I believe.”

LoveLifeBookRomanceFaithPassionJourneyLonelinessBooksSadDepressionAngelAloneLesson
Book:Clockwork Angel
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“Reflecting back on the journey to the “Great Outdoors” places me in a different tonal mood, filled up with hope and passion, not resentful, suppressed relics of anger unresolved Did you listen to the winds? What did you hear? Did you listen to the trees? What knowledge did they bring you? Did you listen to the birds? What songs did they sing to you? Did you listen to the Universe(s)? What messages did they bring you? Did you listen to the ancestors? What hope did they send you? Did you really listen? Close your eyes and open up your full heart and listen again Not for me Do it 4 UrSelf Do it 4 tha Future Look beyond UrSelf Open up UrSelf Love ThySelf Quiet the chatter of your mind, close the racing tracks and be still and quiet so that U can hear what they’re trying to say to U. Be appreciative for what U have been bestowed and blessed to be stewards of, please do not take this to mean: Destroy, dominate, and control. Let it mean be cognizant of the complexity, respect true biodiversity, respect and honor all Life, allow for balance, and recognize evolutionary adaptability in all of Creation. The winds are blowing good tidings and blessings in this here direction as this one poem comes to a close while striving for the rootedness of an ancient Sequoia so high up in the sky and deeply rooted in our common Mother. Listen to my woes of loneliness and see that will Life all around, NO one is truly lonely or alone.”

InspirationalHopeNatureCompassionEvolutionDepressionLonelyAngerAloneListen
Book:Balancing the Rift: ReCONNECTualizing the Pasenture
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“Though it is becoming an increasingly popular area of advocacy, the United States continues to top the list of nations that are disconnected from the basic concept of relieving a mother of overwork and giving her dancing hormones the time and space to regulate through rest and proper nutrition. It's a grin-and-bear-it moment (complete with dark circles and wan complexion). And, these days, with more and more women literally and energetically holding the home together as the primary breadwinner, and very often as the emotional center of the home as well, the postpartum period becomes a pressure cooker. The unconscious message beamed from all angles is, "Get back at it. You can't afford to rest." But it seems we can't afford not to. Anecdotal evidence strongly suggests that when deliberate physical care and support surround a new mother after birth, as well as rituals that acknowledge the magnitude of the event of birth, postpartum anxiety and its more serious expression, postpartum depression, are much less likely to get a foothold. Consider that the key causes of these disturbingly common, yet still highly underreported, syndromes include isolation, extreme fatigue, overwork, shame or trauma about birth and one's body, difficulties and worries about breastfeeding, and nutritional depletion, all of which suggests that when we let go of the old ways, we inadvertently helped create a perfect storm of factors for postpartum depression.”

HealthBirthDepressionAnxietyMothersThrivingPostpartum
Book:The First Forty Days: The Essential Art of Nourishing the New Mother
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“You have layers over layers of a memory in a place. There is the deepest layer, with the ones you love the most, or have the most memories with. Years and years and years. Maybe, you think, I'll make new memories here with new people. Because you can't give up the place entirely-it's physically impossible, or emotionally. And there you are, and both you and the place are layered, like wallpaper on top of wallpaper for centuries, and you'd have to peel everything away, you'd have to be the bare boards, no memories, nothing left. To get rid of some things, you'd have to get rid of everything. So then you are. There you are. Living on. A house with ghosts.”

MemoriesGrowing UpDepressionAnxietyGrowing Apart
Book:The Only Girl in Town
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“When I was very little, it was cold and dreary also, but I was certain it would be different when I should grow and be ten years old. It must be very nice to be ten, I thought, - and one would not be nearly so lonesome. But when the years passed and I was ten it was just exactly as lonesome. And when I was ten everything was very hard to understand. But it will surely be different when I am seventeen, I said, - I will know so much when I am seventeen. But when I was seventeen it was even more lonely; and everything was still harder to understand. And again I said - faintly - everything will become clearer in a few years more, and I will wonder to think how stupid I have always been. But now the few years more have gone and here I am in loneliness that is more hopeless and harder to bear than when I was very little. Still, I wonder indeed to think how stupid I have been - and now I am not so stupid. I do not tell myself that it will be different when I am five-and-twenty. For I know that it will not be different. I know that it will be the same dreariness, the same Nothingness, the same loneliness.”

Growing UpDepression
Book:I Await the Devil's Coming
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“LADY LAZARUS I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it-- A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?-- The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd Shoves in to see Them unwrap me hand and foot-- The big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call. It's easy enough to do it in a cell. It's easy enough to do it and stay put. It's the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: 'A miracle!' That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart-- It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash-- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-- A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air. -- written 23-29 October 1962”

DeathPoetryDepressionSuicide
Book:Ariel
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“Acquainted with the Night I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.”

PoetryDarknessDepressionIsolation
Book:West-running Brook
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