Best 464 quotes in «depressing quotes» category

It seems to me that our lives are consumed by countless wasting years, but only a few shining moments. I missed mine. Yes is what I should have said. Of course I should have said yes.

It's more real to me here than if I went up," he suddenly heard himself say; and the fear lest that last shadow of reality should lose its edge kept him rooted to his seat as the minutes succeeded each other.

Its just human nature. People forget past and only care about their present and don't think what will happen in future...

It was like this blackness that crept into the corners of my life until everything was grey and dirty. My insides felt burnt out, like if you cut me open, all you would find would be smoke. No heart. No bones. There was nothing left, just the anger. It followed me everywhere. It sat on my bed and watched me sleep and when I had to eat, it looked at me across the table.

It's only the beginning of January, but some daffodils and snowdrops have made it through the earth and stand wetly in little rows by the path. The bus stop is depressing; there's a line of people looking as cold and fragile as the line of flowers [...]

Live your life in such a way that when you die, you're the one smiling and everyone around you is crying

Love isn't about to show off or to go on dates. Its about being with a person who makes you feel special, who gives you a feeling that no one else does. The one who can completely understand you and can laugh on your lame jokes. The one to whom you trust the most and can share your problems. The one who can make wrong things right. Person with whom you can spend your whole life.

Most people go through their whole lives, without ever really feeling that close with anyone.

No one seems to notice when you're down, Unless you are bleeding, Unless you are bleeding, But sometimes the worst wounds, Are the ones you can't see

Magic. I draw with silver and it turns red.

Or because they hope these walls of books will deaden the drumming of the demon in their ears

Orwell was almost exactly wrong in a strange way. He thought the world would end with Big Brother watching us, but it ended with us watching Big Brother.

Pero, en general, la humanidad me pareció siempre detestable. No tengo inconvenientes en manifestar que a veces me impedía comer en todo el día o me impedía pintar durante una semana el haber observado un rasgo; es increíble hasta qué punto la codicia, la envidia, la petulancia, la grosería, la avidez y, en general, todo ese conjunto de atributos que forman la condición humana pueden verse en una cara, en una manera de caminar, en una mirada. Me parece natural que después de un encuentro así uno no tenga ganas de comer, de pintar, ni aun de vivir.

People aren't born sad; we make them that way.

Posterity will never hear of you. You will be lifted clean out from the stream of history. We shall turn you into gas and pour you into the stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you; not a name in a register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You will never have existed.

Quite frankly, every single day that I do something creative, and show it to people, I'm nervous. Even this video, I'm like, 'You're too earnest, it's not funny enough, nobody likes you.' Um, well, I gotta do it, because unless I say something about the world I don't know if it's worth gettin' up in the morning. ...Was that depressing, or inspirational?

Randolph Maddix, a schizophrenic who lived at a private home for the mentally ill in Brooklyn, was often left alone to suffer seizures, his body crumpling to the floor of his squalid room. The home, Seaport Manor, is responsible for 325 starkly ill people, yet many of its workers could barely qualify for fast-food jobs. So it was no surprise that Mr. Maddix, 51, was dead for more than 12 hours before an aide finally checked on him. His back, curled and stiff with rigor mortis, had to be broken to fit him into a body bag.” THE NEW YORK TIMES April 28, 2002

She saw it in her mind's eye like a movie playing, the haunting memories from her childhood she couldn't seem to shake blending together into one raw, aching image. Her mother lying in a darkened room for days, her face swollen with tears. The inevitable ashtray overrun with ashes, the acrid scent of pot smoke in the air. The bed or couch or futon may have been different from year to year as Evie moved them around from apartment to commune to funky cottage, but her mother was always the same. Falling hard for some man, immersing herself in romantic fantasies that were crushed when the guy left. And the guy always left. Her mother's inability to get a grasp on reality had too often left Mischa to care for her younger sister, to care for her mother, from too young an age. She remembered shaking Evie awake, trying to get her to eat. To get up and take a shower, take her and Raine to school. No kid should have to do that. No kid should have to witness the way Evie had allowed herself to be ravaged by love. No woman should allow that to happen.

The abrupt reality of his situation was a depressing thought.

Living with hope is like rubbing up against a cheese grater. It keeps taking slices off you until there's so little left you just crumble.

She wondered how many towns like this existed all over the country?Bucolic scenery on the outside, with its own private soap operas, gossips and hells on the inside. She wondered if the suburbs in huge cities were merely a collection of small towns, piled on top of each other and each place was ultimately the same. The thought struck her as exceedingly depressing. However, her spirits were not in their best shape.

... Smelling bad is so depressing. ...

Someone opened up the floodgates and now I'm drowning.

Some people avoid thinking deeply in public, only because they are afraid of coming across as suicidal.

There was no point in wallowing. Magnus refused to wallow. Wallowing was for elephants, depressing people, and depressing elephants.

Sometimes I feel so alone in the world. A tiny speck of nothing in a sea of emptiness.

There's a lot of beauty to be found in sadness and melancholia. One of the things that you find time and time again - not just with music, but with literature - is that things that appear to be quite depressing on the surface can ironically be very uplifting and touching to other people. When you hear something that really reminds you that you're not alone in feeling sad, depressed, melancholic, angry - I think that can actually be a very cathartic experience.

To evade insanity and depression, we unconsciously limit the number of people toward whom we are sincerely sympathetic.

To love and not be loved; is to die and not be dead

Truthfully she felt incredibly miserable, seeing university students and tourists bustling in and out of the place with their cell phones in hand, texting like there was no tomorrow. Living behind a screen, they’d likely text with their last breath.

Vivre sans lecture c'est dangereux, il faut se contenter de la vie, ça peut amener à prendre des risques.

Watching the hole in the ever-fading light. It’s the size of a baby now, closing all the time. Narrower and narrower, until there’s barely room to fit an arm through. I’m thinking about quenching the light before the hole shuts—this is just torture—when a face suddenly appears. It’s Bran. The spell has passed and he’s come back. He wants to get through, to be with me. But the hole’s too small. He punches it, pulls at it, slips his fingers into the gap and strains with all his might—but it’s no good. The rock continues to grind together. The hole gets smaller, the width of a finger now. At the last moment, Bran presses his mouth up to the hole and roars with raw pain and loss, at the top of his voice, “Bec!” It’s the only time he’s ever uttered my name. Anyone’s name. His anguished cry stabs at my heart and tears spring to my eyes. I open my mouth to shout his own name back, to offer whatever small shred of comfort I can… but then the rock closes all the way and a fierce rumbling drowns out the echoes of Bran’s cry. I stare at the solid rock. My mouth closes. The light fades. Darkness.

Who I really am, you don't want to see.

With the final onset of dark the iron cold locked down and the boy by now was shuddering violently. No moon rose beyond the murk and there was nowhere to go.

You have been through a lot, if you've been through my poetry

You're FAT - and don't try to sugarcoat it, because you'll just eat that, too.

Actually, I was rock climbing on this film at 7 in the morning. It was quite unique! But in any event, the colour of the leaves disturbed me so we had to work on that. On the other hand, I didn't want to drench it in a kind of depressing tone.

All love shifts and changes. I don't know if you can be wholeheartedly in love all the time.

A lot of people don't realize that depression is an illness. I don't wish it on anyone, but if they would know how it feels, I swear they would think twice before they just shrug it.

A lot of people think the blues is depressing but that's not the blues I'm singing. When I'm singing blues, I singing life. People can't stand to listen to the blues, they've got to be phonies.

There is no greater despair, than to tread with care upon ice that is already broken

There is no sense of wrapping your mind in the barbwires of depressing or negative thought.

They went through the last of the cars and then walked up the track to the locomotive and climbed up to the catwalk. Rust and scaling paint. They pushed into the cab and he blew away the ash from the engineer's seat and put the boy at the controls. The controls were very simple. Little to do but push the throttle lever forward. He made train noises and diesel horn noises but he wasn't sure what these might mean to the boy. After a while they just looked out through the silted glass to where the track curved away in the waste of weeds. If they saw different worlds what they knew was the same. That the train would sit there slowly decomposing for all eternity and that no train would ever run again

Those who cry are dead inside

We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that. We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.

Well, enough of this introspection. It’s depressing, quite frankly.

We make, see, and love films, not digitals. To convert all of our movies, home videos, theaters, photographs and television to digital would be like telling a painter to throw away his brushes and canvas for an I-Pad. Celluloid isn't just nostalgic, it's an art form and, like it or not, it's superior to digital. It lasts much longer, it provides grain and brighter colors, and it takes more effort so that it produces something wonderful. With the inferior binary codes, pixels and untested shelf-life of digital files, plus the fact that these days anyone with a digital camera, even a two-year-old, can make a video and pollute the world with self-photography and cat pictures, film has a lot more integrity and worth than digital.

What magic scale childhood does make of raw reality.

you ultimately become the one/what you hate.

A country survives its legislation. That truth should not comfort the conservative nor depress the radical. For it means that public policy can enlarge its scope and increase its audacity, can try big experiments without trembling too much over the result. This nation could enter upon the most radical experiments and could afford to fail in them.