Thom Yorke Quotes

Despair ... is like a gas, odourless, tasteless, without nourishment. You breathe it in, your limbs relax, you cease to care, even at the moment when the steel touches your throat.

I wanted to be bored to death, as good a way to go as any.

The destructive character lives from the feeling, not that life is worth living, but that suicide is not worth the trouble.

Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?

It is as if I were setting out into captivity; better were it for me to die here

I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway.

I've stopped many things such as healthy eating. What's the point? In this post-truth era, I feel increasingly powerless.

No one can really relate to somebody who has given up entirely.

I don't hope for anything. Not only in my professional life, but in my family life also. My total lifestyle is like that.

Estragon: What about hanging ourselves? Vladimir: Hmm. It'd give us an erection.

She passed these years in a distant corner of her mind. A dry, barren field, out beyond wish and lament, beyond dream and disillusionment. There, the future did not matter. And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and it accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion.

With drooping shoulders The majority sit hunched, their foreheads furrowed like Stony ground that has been repeatedly ploughed-up to no purpose.

Insect politics, indifferent universe. Bang your head against the wall, but apathy is worse.

(Beth) "I don't care anymore." I turned my face up toward Heaven. "That's not my home anymore. You are.

The nice thing about true hopelessness is that you don't have to try again.

To be bored to death is a form of suicide.

If I weren't already dead, I'd have to kill myself just so I could roll over in my grave.

In a world that's ugly and a lie, it's hard to even want to try.

It occurred to me that I was unhappy. And it didn’t feel so very terrible. No urgency, nothing. I could slip out of my life on a slow wave like this—it didn’t matter. I don’t have to be happy. All I have to do is hold on to something and wait.

At a certain depth of distress, the poor, in their stupor, groan no longer over evil, and are no longer thankful for good.

My own apathy is bone chilling.

I have few illusions: the cause is lost in advance. As for me, I do my part, which is to drag a fairly drab existence to its conclusion.

I've lost all capacity for disbelief. I'm not sure that I could even rise to a little gentle scepticism.

Any system which says, This is a rotten world, wait for the next, give up, do nothing, succumb--that may be the basic Lie and if we participate in believing it and acting (or rather not acting) on it we involve ourselves in the Lie and suffer dreadfully... which only reinforces that particular Lie.

I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, just more work. I felt like sleeping for five years but they wouldn’t let me.