Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
A drowning man will clutch at straws.
A dog in desperation will leap over a wall.
The man who lives only by hope will die with despair.
Despair is like forward children, who, when you take away one of their playthings, throw the rest into the fire for madness. It grows angry with itself, turns its own executioner, and revenges its misfortunes on its own head.
The sins against hope are despair, as anticipated failure, and presumption, as anticipated fulfilment. In both these cases man seeks to break out of his pilgrim existence and have his life otherwise than from the hand of God.
What matters it to a blind man that his father could see?
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! (words inscribed over the gates of Hell.)
Listen, someone’s screaming in agony – fortunately I speak it fluently.
Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius.