#misery

I wish I could hate you," he said. His voice was light, his mouth curved in an unconcerned half smile, his eyes sick with misery. "I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I do hate you and then I see you and I... ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#misery

wanting what you could not have led to misery and madness ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#clockwork-prince #infernal-devices #madness #misery #tessa-gray

A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour. ↗

— P.G. Wodehouse

#misery #moroseness #subconscious #humor

Money does not buy you happiness, but lack of money certainly buys you misery. ↗

— Daniel Kahneman

#misery #money #money

I am determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may find myself. For I have learned that the greater part of our misery or unhappiness is determined not by our circumstance but by our disposition. ↗

— Martha Washington

#am #cheerful #circumstance #determined #disposition

Let us lose none of their humble words, let us note their slightest gestures, and tell me, tell me that we will think of them together, now and later, when we realise the misery of the times and the magnitude of their sacrifice. ↗

— Georges Duhamel

#humble #later #let us #lose #magnitude

Human misery is too great for men to do without faith. ↗

— Heinrich Heine

#faith #great #human #misery #too

The artist must be like that Marine. He has to know how to be miserable. He has to love being miserable. ↗

— Steven Pressfield

#artist #miserable #misery #write #writer

Martin in particular concluded that man was born to live either in the convulsions of misery, or in the lethargy of boredom. ↗

— Voltaire

#life #meaning #misery #life

In my own shire, if I was sad Homely comforters I had: The earth, because my heart was sore, Sorrowed for the son she bore; And standing hills, long to remain, Shared their short-lived comrade's pain. And bound for the same bourn as I, On every road I wandered by, Trod beside me, close and dear, The beautiful and death-struck year: Whether in the woodland brown I heard the beechnut rustle down, And saw the purple crocus pale Flower about the autumn dale; Or littering far the fields of May Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay, And like a skylit water stood The bluebells in the azured wood. Yonder, lightening other loads, The season range the country roads, But here in London streets I ken No such helpmates, only men; And these are not in plight to bear, If they would, another's care. They have enough as 'tis: I see In many an eye that measures me The mortal sickness of a mind Too unhappy to be kind. Undone with misery, all they can Is to hate their fellow man; And till they drop they needs must still Look at you and wish you ill. ↗

— A.E. Housman

#city #compassion #country #hate #home