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Despair Quotes

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Despair Quotes

“The Price Love will probably kill me,
Long before I fell out of it,
Or madly in with another. It will rush like a red hand,
With doubt and steady stillness,
Of another lover into something else. It will kill with everything,
But a feeling of full self-despair,
And a moment of bitter nostalgia. Love will probably kill me,
Leaving everything I am behind,
Or giving me anything I owe it in return. It will blush my cheeks with tenderness,
Wailing my veins into stray lines
Of another’s love, an undying lie. It will be neither slow nor gentle,
But rushed into words and memories,
And give out nothing but love, again.”

“Mumbai is the shahar of dreams to which thousands flock every year. Its beauty and glory are both enchanting and enticing. It’s a city of fortunes, a city of poverty, a city of hope, a city of pain, a city of success, a city of loss, a city of stories, a city of games, a city of fate, a city of destiny, a city of love and a city of heartbreak. Changes occur in Mumbai minute by minute, mile by mile and inch by inch. Some dreams gain flight, while others burn in despair. Mumbai is a city that never sleeps. It is always abuzz. Its inhabitants are multilingual and of different faiths. Some come to Mumbai in search of their passion, while others come in search of an identity. The shahar’s glamor, fashion and film stars attract people from all over India. The ameer, the gareeb, all come to Mumbai to search for their niche with the umeed of making it big someday. Hence, the hustle and bustle of the city makes its inhabitants feel both unimportant and significant simultaneously.”

“The sense of struggling through the thickets of a nightmare again swept over her. There was a way out, so her heart's voice cried to her, and could she find it she would find also Damerel, her dear friend. But time was slipping away; in another minute it would be too late; and urgency acted not as a spur but as a creeping paralysis which clogged the mind, and weighted the tongue, and imposed on desperation a blanket of numb stupidity.”

“Gavriel sat stock-still. Inside him roiled such turmoil that he feared that should he move, he would smash every piece of furniture in the room, crack every pane of every window, until there was nothing but shining splinters where the parlor had been. Instead, he leaned back his head and laughed, a long, cruel laugh that did not seem to belong to the boy Roza had known. It blazed up from deep inside him, from some embers he’d always been careful never to stoke.”

“It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.”

“The secret tugs at my sleeve. A child looking for attention. It is not a big secret. But it is not the only one either. “Strength in numbers” they say. For they are many. Many little things that – together – weigh tonnes. And take up space. And are quite noisy. The way only a lot of whispers can make noise. And they follow me. Little secrets of omission, desire, and denial. Of indulgence, hedonism, and exploration. Of peeves, passion, and deep-seated fear. Little secrets of despair and disrepair and prohibited thoroughfare.”

“You cannot control what happens in life, But you can change your own attitude. Every time you see yourself at a strife, Choose a weaker or stronger habitude. Once controlling your emotion and thought, Even the deepest despair, change the course. You persevere to make life what you sought Depending on the way you view it, of course!”

“Not wanting the girls to endure the shame of a crazy mother, I spent my days acting as normal as possible. I walked through life, an actor in a Leave it to Beaver episode, determined to disguise all clues of my real condition until... well, until I could find an appropriate moment to do away with myself." [...] "Yet even as my depression spiraled into ever more precarious territory, I retained an uncanny ability to disguise my true mental condition from everyone except Tom. He was my sole source of strength and he never stopped encouraging me.”

“February 13, 1936 I ask of people more than they can give me. It is useless to maintain the contrary. But what a mistake and what despair. And myself perhaps... Seek contacts. All contacts. If I want to write about men, should I stop talking about the countryside? If the sky or light attract me, shall I forget the eyes or voices of those I love? Each time I am given the elements of a friendship, the fragments of an emotion, never the emotion or the friendship itself.”

“After John’s arrest, Stillness seemed impossible. My mind never stopped, and I kept ramming through the ever-growing to-dos as fast as I could. To be honest, I was afraid to stop. I was afraid to stop working, to stop making money, to stop moving long enough to let what was happening sink in. My whole life, I’ve been a doer. Now, I worried that if I stopped doing and started being, all of this would be real. I worried I’d sink into a dark hole of despair and never come out. But maybe if I kept checking off to-dos and focused on keeping all the balls in the air, I could fix it. That was, after all, what I was good at.”

“It is because of this sea between us. The earth has never, up to now, separated us. But, ever since yesterday, there has been something in this nonetheless real, perfectly Atlantic, salty, slightly rough sea that has cast a spell on me. And every time I think about Promethea, I see her crossing this great expanse by boat and soon, alas, a storm comes up, my memory clouds over, in a flash there are shipwrecks, I cannot even cry out, my mouth is full of saltwater sobs. I am flooded with vague, deceptive recollections, I am drowning in my imagination in tears borrowed from the most familiar tragedies, I wish I had never read certain books whose poison is working in me. Has this Friday, perhaps, thrown a spell on me? But spells only work if you catch them. I have caught the Tragic illness. If only Promethea would make me some tea I know I would find some relief. But that is exactly what is impossible. And so, today, I am sinning. I am sinking beneath reality. I am weighted down with literature. That is my fate. Yet I had the presence of mind to start this parenthesis, the only healthy moment in these damp, feverish hours. All this to try to come back to the surface of our book... Phone me quickly, Promethea, get me out of this parenthesis fast!)”

“In addition to my new outlook on life, in some absurdly simple way, Anissa gave me several new reasons to live. Above all, I had to see her again and find out what, if anything, would happen between her and me.”

“Adding to my emotional dizziness on Sunday, I spoke with my sister, who kept noting how amazing Michael is, and what a brave and selfless man he is for having helped as he did.”

“We held on to great memories. This sustains us in every moment.”

“How can I give up stalking when I have a family to feed? Get a job? I don't want to work for you, your work makes me puke, do you understand? This is the way I figure it: if a man works with you, he is always working for one of you, he is a slave and nothing else. And I always wanted to be myself, on my own, so that I could spit at you all, at your boredom and despair.”

“When there is silence, Give your voice. When there is darkness, Shine your light. When there is desperation, Offer hope.”