John Bunyan Quotes

I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead.

It got to a point where I didn't care if I lived or I died.

She could not trust herself to hope—but without hope, she realized, she had no reason to go on.

In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.

Melancholy and sadness are the start of doubt... doubt is the beginning of despair; despair is the cruel beginning of the differing degrees of wickedness.

I've been immersed in it too long. My spirit is wobbly and my mind is confused. The hurt has become too great.

It's curious how we act in moments of personal despair.

I thought I was dead inside.

How could you not want to draw breath one more day? How could your own life be such a cheap commodity? But then I started to understand: when your existence is hell, death must be heaven.

It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death.

Despair puts the last touch not only to our misery but also to our weakness.

I will not go on, I thought. I won't. I will throw my soul to the wind and blow into a thousand pieces. I will wash up on a shore somewhere like bleached and broken driftwood. I will dry out in the sun until I-and any gift I ever had-shrivel into the sand.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering—this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutary day-time advice for everyone. But at three o’clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn’t work—and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.

Misery pulls away the brackets of life leaving you to free fall.

No one who had never been depressed like me could imagine that the pain could get so bad that death became a star to hitch up to, a fantasy of peace someday which seemed better than any life with all this noise in my head.

My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain.

Oh! Stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.

When he has lost all hope, all object in life, man becomes a monster in his misery.

Our rages, daughters of despair, creep and squirm like worms. Prayer is the only form of revolt which remains upright.

still, what could i say? that i didn't just feel depressed - instead, it was like the depression was the core of me, of every part of me, from my mind to my bones? that if he got blue, i got black? that i hated those pills so much, because i knew how much i relied on them to live?

I look'd to Heav'n, and try'd to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust.

And so I leave this world, where the heart must either break or turn to lead (suicide note)

It's funny how despair can soon become an old companion

I feel as if things are falling apart within me, like so many glass partitions shattering. I walk from place to place in the grip of a fury, needing to act, yet can do nothing about it because any attempt seems doomed in advance. Failure, everywhere failure. Only suicide hovers above me, gleaming and inaccessible.