Best 268 quotes in «hopelessness quotes» category

dream . larger than in sleep. dream ,if its helps you to grow dream ,if you opened up to life dream if you recognise another you inside your mind and heart my dear , don't let this go . dream, for everything , you know this comes to you asking you that you can again

Everything's going to be okay', because that's what I wanted him to say and it's what he wanted to say and that's what you do when the curtain is falling — you give the line that the audience wants to hear.

Elizabeth's barreness and advanced age--a double symbol of hopelessness--became the means by which God would announce to the world that nothing is impossible for Him.

Every word was a cheat. Every thought and feeling was false. I played the game. Everything I touched, I cheapened.

Father Gregory laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes life knocks us to our knees." His hand tightened briefly. "But that's a damn good position to pray from.

For this reason, it is well said that misfortune is sometimes good for something, for it teaches at the same time that it hurts.

For several years Quinn had been having the same conversations with this man, whose name he did not know. Once, when he had been in the luncheonette, they had talked about baseball, and now, each time Quinn came in, they continued to talk about it. In the winter, the talk was of trades, predictions, memories. During the season, it was always the most recent game. They were both Mets fans, and the hopelessness of that passion had created a bond between them.

God can inject hope into a absolutely hopeless situation.

From hopelessness within the mind rises hope itself

God calls us to have the strength to trust Him over our hopelessness and to let Him give us the strength to overcome what it is that we feel hopeless to.

Heaven is boundless, and the sea is beneath you.

Each mind conceives god in its own way. There may be as many variation of the god figure as there are people in the world

God has not yet revealed himself to no one in no unclear terms. Religions are attempts to find him; on that level they are all equal

...he began to fear whether in the presence of far greater events, all his acts would not fade into insignificance, just as a drop of rain disappears into the sea.

He pulled the gun from his waist, running it along my cheek and back down to my lips. I blinked back the tears at sick game. He finally stopped the gun at my temple, my pulse fighting against the pressure of the cold metal of the gun. “Do you think you are a good person, Kendall?” “No, not at all,” I said, swallowing down the misery of my honest answer. “Really?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting in confusion. “Are you afraid to die?” I wished I could spit in his face for making everything so hard. I wished he would just pull the trigger and end it already. But a small part of me was begging and pleading internally that he wouldn’t shoot me. “No, I’m not afraid to die,” I admitted, I closed my eyes and the tears fell quickly. “I’m not afraid of much in life. I’ve seen too much to be scared.” He let out a sigh. I opened my eyes. He pulled the gun away from me. “Well, damn. How the hell am I supposed to kill someone so miserable?” I looked away. Even in death I was pitiful.

He knew...there was no redemption for the damned.

He waited for the black, terrible anger as though for some beast out of the night. But it did not come to him. His bowels seemed weighted with lead, and he walked slowly and lingered against fences and the cold, wet walls of buildings by the way. Descent into the depths until at last there was no further chasm below. He touched the solid bottom of despair and there took ease.

…her entire being suspended between newborn faith and ancient hopelessness.

He didn’t imagine hockey was a very likely career for any of them—they weren’t even playing on skates—but if they could just believe in something... In themselves, a little bit, in the world giving them a chance, in other people being worth getting to know… If he could, somehow, offer them that much. Or even if all he did was make their week better. Hell, he’d take making their day a little less worse. It’d make him happy too and joy wasn’t something to be squandered.

Hope disappears. And still you go on. Then suddenly it's over. And hope doesn't surprise you again, once it's gone. It has a different name. Different face. And you're not happy to see it, or surprised. It's like a long-forgotten agreement. Sort of a, "Oh, there you are. I've been expecting you, I think.

He would not now conduct little Nell to the coast; he would not convey her by a steamer to Port Said, would not surrender her to Mr. Rawlinson; he himself would not fall into his father's arms and would not hear from his lips that he had acted like a true Pole! The end, the end! In a few days the sun would shine only upon the lifeless bodies and afterwards would dry them up into a semblance of those mummies which slumber in an eternal sleep in the museums in Egypt

Hopeful people are more easily controlled, but the volume must be managed. Too much hope leaves a person emboldened and resistant. Too little leaves them disabled and useless. But just the right amount of hope subjugates them. They cradle it like a dying ember, and they'll do anything to keep the wind from extinguishing it. They'll serve.

Hope doesn't care about the problems that have already been solved. Hope cares only about the problems that still need to be solved. Because the better the world gets, the more we have to lose. And the more we have to lose, the less we feel we have to hope for.

Hope as evidence of life. Life as evidence of death.

Hope is when we have a beautiful vision of something and a positive emotion to go along with it. When our world comes crashing down, when we are trapped in a deep, dark, despairing hopelessness, we need a bigger perspective. Hope comes when we reflect on all that we hold dear and true, when we acknowledge a higher power, when we acknowledge God in our lives and begin to see what He has planned for our lives.

Hopelessness can be defeated only by a new hope!

Hope lies beyond inaction! When inaction ends, hope rises like the sun! Inertia is the enemy of hope!

Hope is like a balloon. It seems like it swells up just so someone else can pop it in your face.

How do you tell someone it’s surprisingly easy to surrender to horror once you accept there’s no way out? Survival is simply the art of suffering gracefully when we’re up against forces out of our control. I lost my fear of dying because I expected it every minute of every day. Tomorrows only exist in our minds.

I am afraid a monster is grown that will devour all of us. Yet we must fight him.

He was angry; not as the irritable, from chafing of a trifle; nor was his anger like the fool's, pumped from the wells of nothing, to be dissipated by a reproach or a curse; it was the wrath peculiar to ardent natures rudely awakened by the sudden annihilation of a hope--dream, if you will--in which the choicest happinesses were thought to be certainly in reach. In such case nothing intermediate will carry off the passion--the quarrel is with Fate. Let us follow the philosophy a little further, and say to ourselves, it were well in such quarrels if Fate were something tangible, to be despatched with a look or a blow, or a speaking personage with whom high words were possible; then the unhappy mortal would not always end the affair by punishing himself.

Hope was always creating pleasantly ideological, and therefore impossible things.

Hope is your torch in the darkest hour.

How can I be strong when I do not know my own mind? I am lost." "That's not true. You are not lost. It's just that your own thoughts are being kept from you, or hidden away. But the mind is strong. It survives, even without thought. Even with everything taken away, it holds a seed-- your self. You must believe in your own powers.

I am not ascare to die. I am only ascare that after death I be alone. Maybe because of suicide, I go to the hell? If hell all hot and crowded and noiseful, like Christian minister on TV say, then I not care because it will be just like India. But if hell cold and quiet, with lot of snow and leaf-empty trees, and people who smile with string-thin lips, then I ascare. Because it seems so much like my life in Am'rica.

I am as silent as death. Do this: Go to your bedroom. Your nice, safe, warm bedroom that is not a glass coffin behind a morgue door. Lie down on your bed not made of ice. Stick your fingers in your ears. Do you hear that? The pulse of life from your heart, the slow in-and-out from your lungs? Even when you are silent, even when you block out all noise, your body is still a cacophony of life. Mine is not. It is the silence that drives me mad. The silence that drives the nightmares to me. Because what if I am dead? How can someone without a beating heart, without breathing lungs live like I do? I must be dead. And this is my greatest fear: After 301 years, when they pull my glass coffin from this morgue, and they let my body thaw like chicken meat on the kitchen counter, I will be just like I am now. I will spend all of eternity trapped in my dead body. There is nothing beyond this. I will be locked within myself forever. And I want to scream. I want to throw open my eyes wake up and not be alone with myself anymore, but I can't. I can't.

I am Broken single mother Disconnected lover Slow motion dresser Dark secret confessor White flag trend Professional dead end

I am sorry for when I do it hopefully one day you'll realise why. Please do not be angry; just understand that today I tried.

I didn't answer. Just shook my head and let the tears roll. "I just want it to go away. I just want all the drama to stop. Nobody would believe me anyway," I whispered. "Nobody would care.

I didn't feel very powerful. as a matter of fact, with every word, it got harder and harder to breathe. I couldn't pretend any longer, and now a great hopelessness rose inside me, an uncontrollable tide... and as it threatened to swallow me... I threatened to let it.

Hopelessness can kill a soul… but hope? Maybe God can use hope to keep one alive, even if that’s all you have.

Hope is made of air, and wishes. An empty box wrapped in shiny paper. And now Dad wants me to be the ambassador of hope for his foundation. How can I be the ambassador of hope, when hope doesn't change anything? When unrealized hopes only bring pain and despair?

Hope is made of air, and wishes. An empty box wrapped in shiny paper.

I encouraged my patients to floss. It was hard to do some days. They should have flossed. Flossing prevents periodontal disease and can extend life up to seven years. It’s also time consuming and a general pain in the ass. That’s not the dentist talking. That’s the guy who comes home, four or five drinks in him, what a great evening, ha-has all around, and, the minute he takes up the floss, says to himself, What’s the point? In the end, the heart stops, the cells die, the neurons go dark, bacteria consumes the pancreas, flies lay their eggs, beetles chew through tendons and ligaments, the skin turns to cottage cheese, the bones dissolve, and the teeth float away with the tide. But then someone who never flossed a day in his life would come in, the picture of inconceivable self-neglect and unnecessary pain— rotted teeth, swollen gums, a live wire of infection running from enamel to nerve— and what I called hope, what I called courage, above all what I called defiance, again rose up in me, and I would go around the next day or two saying to all my patients, “You must floss, please floss, flossing makes all the difference.

I don’t want anything else bad to happen,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears. “I’m so sick to death of bad things happening, of seeing bad things that happened in the past! And I’m guilty of so many things. I’m sorry that I killed Mrs. Matthias and wrecked her stupid greenhouse back in the Eighties and I’m sorry I left you here alone while I went around the world.” “I wasn’t alone though, I knew you were doing what you wanted to do and that you were still alive, so I wasn’t really alone, I knew you were still there somewhere,” Alecto told her. His damaged smile and downcast, sorrowful eyes were draped in the shadow of the night, saving Mandy the trouble of seeing.

I drew a deep breath, trying to think of something to say, then pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to him. "Are you breathing, Ian?" His mouth twitched a little. "Aye, I think so." "That's all you have to do, for now.

I drew a deep breath, trying to think of something to say, then pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to him. "Are you breathing, Ian?" His mouth twitched a little. "Aye, I htink so." "That's all you have to do, for now.

If America and the Western world continue in their state of unconscious hopelessness, lack of faith and of fortitude, it is predictable that they will not be able to resist the temptation of the big bang by nuclear weapons, which would end all problems - overpopulation, boredom, and hunger - since it would do away with all life.

If we’ve been born once already (which we know we have) why then is it so hard for some to believe that we’ve been born before? The answer to that is nothing other than the information about life one has previously received.

If we throw blankets over our children's dreams, we darken their world and extinguish their desire to live.