Despair (n.) is not what being deprived of hope means.
Despair (n.) has one thing worse than itself: the habit of despair.
Despair (n.) like the absurd holds opinions and desires about everything in general and nothing in particular.
Despair (n.) is not a fact but a state: the very state of sin.
Despair (n.) is not what the condemned man feels; what he feels is fear — which is natural enough.
Despair (n.) is conquered once spoken of: despairing literature is a contradiction in terms.
Despair (n.) can save you from panic: the separated lovers' indifference looked like composure.
Despair (n.) ends some morning when a fierce urge to live proclaims that it is all over, and that pain means no more than joy.
Despair (n.) came to the Greeks through beauty and its stifling quality; our time feeds its despair on ugliness and convulsions.
Despair (n.) should be the night the mind meets, if it must meet one — the lucid polar night, vigil of the mind, not the night called up under closed eyelids.
Despair (n.) is an emotion, and emotions continually exceed themselves — which is why rules of action founded on despair are the error of an entire period.
Despair (n.) can be given a faith only by passion, not reason — and by the very passion that caused it: humiliation and hatred.