Paul Valery Quotes

The sickening pang of hope deferr'd.

Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.

Lonesome. Lonesome. I know what it means. Here all by my lonesome, dreaming empty dreams. Weary. Weary at the close of day, wondering if tomorrow brings me joy or sorrow.

Depression begins with disappointment. When disappointment festers in our soul, it leads to discouragement.

The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.

Love and despair go hand in hand.

Naturally, love's the most distant possibility.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

It makes you not believe in anything, when you do every single thing you can do right, and then there's still some way to mess it up.

I like dark, hopeless, beautiful tragedies.

I'm here to be lovesick, broke and drifting, writing heartache songs and singing about pain and misery and depression, with a few good times here and there.

I remember sitting by my window, wishing upon the stars that my skin condition would go away. I wondered, 'Why me?'

I could not forbear getting up to the top of a little mountain, and looking out to sea, in hopes of seeing a ship : then fancy that, at a vast distance, I spied a sail, please myself with the hopes of it, and, after looking steadily, till I was almost blind, lose it quite, and sit down and weep like a child, and thus increase my misery by my folly.

I thought that we were getting somewhere, but we're still nowhere at all. I watch your tail lights fading, I try but a tear won't fall.

The tragedy in his life already existed. To love an atmospheric spirit. That was the real sorrow. Hopelessness itself. Nowhere on the printed page, nowhere in the annals of man, would her name appear: no local habitation, no name. There are girls like that, he thought, and those you love most, the ones where there is no hope because it has eluded you at the very moment you close your hands around it.

Despair is part of love.

All perfection is melancholy.

It is said that scattered through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out onto a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag on your heart.

No one in the world gets what they want and that is beautiful.

Lost are we, and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire.

I’ve lived to bury my desires, And see my dreams corrode with rust; Now all that’s left are fruitless fires That burn my empty heart to dust.

My words are the garment of what I shall never be Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy.