Fyodor Dostoevsky Quotes

I live in my deepest hell and from there I cannot fall any further.

I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better, I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible. I must die or be better, it appears to me.

I want you to take away the hope because that's the thing that's killing me.

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.

Unhappiness was my god.

For always in her there was a dark place full of despair and a great dividing force to make meaning because there was none.

Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.

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.

I have spent my life falling. Not the kind that Tiny's talking about. He's talking about love. I'm talking about life. In my kind of falling, there's no landing. There's only hitting the ground. Hard. Dead, or wanting to be dead. So the whole time you're falling, it's the worst feeling in the world. Because you feel you have no control over it. Because you know how it ends.

I have at times tried to imagine the despair which leads to suicide, attempted to conjure up the slew and slop of darkness in which only death appears as a pinprick of light: in other words, the exact opposite of the normal condition of life.

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

I had never seen a woman in such despair before. It was worse than death, it was a constant longing for death and a constant rejection of life. She lived like darkness in her own day.

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

The dull pain of truth weights my soul, pulling it under. I am left hopelessly awake.

When even despair ceases to serve any creative purpose, then surely we are justified in suicide.

Why can I never go back to bed? Who's is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?

I wanted to understand pain and the human condition, which is full of pain and regret and sadness - and some happiness, if you're lucky.

Our family has gone through a very difficult time. My husband and I have taken the brunt of it. I've never known what it truly felt like to be so sad and desperate inside.

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.

No one alive is more tormented nor weaker than myself.

I feel hurt and pain times a million, all the time.

Desire, despair, desire. So many monsters.

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