Best 240 quotes in «desperation quotes» category

Dear brother," Number Two replied, "I can eat shit, I just don't like the taste.

Depth of Desperation Don’t succumb to the sorrow that seeds anxiety into your soul You are desperate because you feel You are determined because you allow yourself to feel And you refuse to give up on a dream, a wish A hope that is embedded within you And that is truly beautiful

Desperate people do desperate things. You cannot be one of them. You must be better.

Desperation is often more powerful than inspiration.

Desperation seeps through the seams of fear.

Desperation is not an evidence of hard work, it's a sign of lack of faith

Desperation makes for poor stealth.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.” “I don’t care how desperate you are.

Desperation does not breed empathy or clear thinking.

Desperation is the door of the Divine.

Desperation makes men fearless

Desperation will drive you to do things you know will never make you whole again and even to lose the very thing you’re desperate for.

desperate times required judicious risk-taking.

Diseases desperate grown, By desperate appliance are relieved, Or not at all.

Don’t allow your thoughts of frustration allow you to make decisions out of desperation.

Down below people were clipping by going nowhere fast. You could feel the long despairing history of the place. You could actually hear it, a low hum like the buzz of a sick bee that resonated with the fragments of a million broken dreams.

Don't judge me. Ethics and morality no longer exist in our world. It's a luxury of the past, afforded only to those who had a future.

Don't mistake determination for desperation. Someone who is persistent will stop at nothing to get their way.

...don't you realize a flawless profile means nothing when a mere smile drives me to desperation? Don't you covet that power?..

Do you think he would dare half as much for your love as I have?” “No,” she said. “He never could. That’s why I love him.” “You were desperate for me.” “Desperate. Not happy.” For the first time in all the years she had known him, she truly pitied him. “You can never, ever make me happy. My heart will never rest in you.

Don’t ever let desperation take the seat of inspiration in you! Always live inspired no matter what! For though something might be wrong somewhere, something is always right somewhere! If you have life, be alive and smile!

earn what you can since everything's for sale

Glory is revealed most clearly in desperation, dependance, and discomfort.

education without inspiration is only a recipe for desperation

E io l’ho amata, dio santo quanto l’ho amata, nella maniera più pura e disperata possibile.

Everyone was trying to forget something, but they could never seem to find the way to do it. All they ever seemed to do was make it worse. Such quiet madness, the masses led.

Falling in love doe snot mean you're desperate.

Forgive us our fantasies. It’s all we have.

For the vile human pigs in life; the sloppy, disheveled, uncaring dregs, the ungrateful, and especially for the vicious, negative emotional peasants — there will only continue to be the hard and painful lessons you so desperately need. The invisible hand will hold you in your wretched place until your last breath — unless you evolve. If you are cruel and ignorant the invisible fist will pound you into oblivion until you submit, humble yourself and soften your hard heart.

education without inspiration is only recipe for desperation

Excessive want is a form of desperation and a declaration of lack.

Given a choice between death and the barest possibility of acceptance, they were desperate, and we used that. We made them desperate.

He stood over her for as long as he could endure the cold, long enough for the boy tending the dead to pass twice on fingertips and toes. The boy's self-appointed mission was to keep all of their eyes closed, the dead. Otherwise he couldn't sleep, the boy. But he never did anyway, as far as the Agent could tell. Any hour, there he'd be, scuttling from body to body under his calf robe. Many nights when the Agent locked his door, it wasn't to keep the Piegan from stealing his tins and blankets, but to keep the boy's hands from covering his own eyes.

He felt himself now, as he had often fancied other people, adrift on the stream, and far removed from control of it, a man with no grasp upon circumstances any longer. Old battered man loafing at the doors of public-houses now seemed to be his fellows, and he felt, as he supposed them to feel, a mingling of envy and hatred towards those who passed quickly and certainly to a goal of their own. They, too, saw things very thin and shadowy, and were wafted about by the lightest breath of wind. For the substantial world, with its prospect of avenues leading on and on to the invisible distance, had slipped from him.

Help," the working Account Representative called, feeling the stir of a tinily remembered humid wind and pausing, again, to look behind him, past the Brougham's black hood and the carelessly dropped safety helmet beside the white cycle, at the Ramp that spiraled up and out of sight toward a street, empty and bright, before the Building, empty and bright, dispossessed, autonomous and autonomic. Bent to what two lives required, below everything, he called for help again and again.

He was a powerful man; he had powerful contacts, and two hidden office levels that, although weren't dungeons, could be used for anything his desperate mind set out to do.

Happiness isn't something she spends much time thinking about. Survival, discomfort, hunger...these are the concerns that fill her days.

He sank back into his black-and-white world, his immobile world of inanimate drawings that had been granted the secret of motion, his death-world with its hidden gift of life. But that life was a deeply ambiguous life, a conjurer's trick, a crafty illusion based on an accidental property of the retina, which retained an image for a fraction of a second after the image was no longer present. On this frail fact was erected the entire structure of the cinema, that colossal confidence game. The animated cartoon was a far more honest expression of the cinematic illusion than the so-called realistic film, because the cartoon reveled in its own illusory nature, exulted in the impossible--indeed it claimed the impossible as its own, exalted it as its own highest end, found in impossibility, in the negation of the actual, its profoundest reason for being. The animated cartoon was nothing but the poetry of the impossible--therein lay its exhilaration and its secret melancholy. For this willful violation of the actual, while it was an intoxicating release from the constriction of things, was at the same time nothing but a delusion, an attempt to outwit mortality. As such it was doomed to failure. And yet it was desperately important to smash through the constriction of the actual, to unhinge the universe and let the impossible stream in, because otherwise--well, otherwise the world was nothing but an editorial cartoon.

He sent up another silent prayer to wherever desperate prayers go and took the first step toward what he hoped would be salvation.

He wanted to go home to the place that he hated.

He were found drowned. He were coming home very hopeless o' aught on earth. He thought God could na be harder than men; mappen not so hard; mappen as tender as a mother; mappen tenderer. I'm not saying he did right, and I'm not saying he didn't wrong. All I say is, may neither me nor mine ever have his sore heart, or we may do like things.

I am convinced that imprisonment is a way of pretending to solve the problem of crime. It does nothing for the victims of crime, but perpetuates the idea of retribution, thus maintaining the endless cycle of violence in our culture. It is a cruel and useless substitute for the elimination of those conditions--poverty, unemployment, homelessness, desperation, racism, greed--which are at the root of most punished crime. The crimes of the rich and powerful go mostly unpunished. It must surely be a tribute to the resilience of the human spirit that even a small number of those men and women in the hell of the prison system survive it and hold on to their humanity.

Hope is an enthusiastic assurance.

Hope is sometimes a fickle thing, my dear.” The endearment felt painful when spoken as part of such a heartbreaking conversation. “We hang on to it because we need to, even when there really is no point.

How can I even think of such a fate . . . Better to commit murder.

How horrible to think what we may wish for, lay in anguish for, may be within our reach but we are unable to see them.

How about a favor?” I asked impulsively –foolishly. Oh, but how I would regret these words. I was sure about that. But nothing else came to mind, and to regret it, I still had to live.

I didn't forget you. I'm just desperate to move on.

I believe in love and I believe that a healthy love stems from love for oneself, so it is never desperate, even in the worst event, in which the other leaves us sorry to die in the fullness of love, a true feeling turns that into energy to go forward with joy and even more strength than before. True love leaves no room for despair, true love is beyond hope.

I did the only thing I knew how to do: I built my own walls of silence to disguise my desperation and what later came to be recognized and diagnosed as depression.