Uzodinma Iweala Quotes

My sweetest hope is to lose hope.

You should despair and run away.

'Weary Willie' is very real to me. He is a man who has given up. The boat has gone and left him. The cards are stacked against him. He's content to make out with what he's got. He knows he'll go no further.

'I throw my hand up in the air sometimes' is when you don't get your way - when you give up, and you're handing it over.

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

Helplessness induces hopelessness, and history attests that loss of hope and not loss of lives is what decides the issue of war.

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

Learned helplessness is the giving-up reaction, the quitting response that follows from the belief that whatever you do doesn't matter.

The best way to guarantee a loss is to quit.

I give up on spending time on these courts; I give up on practicing before the tournament I hate. I hate this.

There comes a time when every scientist, even God, has to write off an experiment.

It seems as if life and hope must cease together.

Groan and forget it.

I was just tired of losing... Life was passing me by.

Americans are really good at throwing their hands up and walking away from things.

Once you give up, you know you're done.

Sometimes, what's helpful is to admit that we are discouraged and admit that we are at a loss.

Eventually you get tired of losing.

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.

The realization that I’d have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.

Everyone has the revolver of resignation in his pocket.

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.

You do not defend a world that is already lost.

I know I am at the end. I shall never get better, dear.

I do not write often now - not for want of something to say, but from a loathing of all I see and hear. Why dwell upon it?