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“The church and the whorehouse arrived in the Far West simultaneously. And each would have been horrified to think it was a different facet of the same thing. But surely they were both intended to accomplish the same thing: the singing, the devotion, the poetry of the churches took a man out of his bleakness for a time, and so did the brothels.”
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

“Great potential for emotional balance and mental flexibility can help us fight the bleakness and sterility of a statistical matrix that clashes with our inner compass's needs. ("What after bowling alone?" )”
― Erik Pevernagie

“I'm falling apart, one part after another. Falling down on the world like snow. Half of me is already on the ground, watching from below.”
― Ashly Lorenzana

“At the Moor

Wanderer in the black wind; quietly the dry reeds whisper
In the stillness of the moor. In the gray sky
A flock of wild birds follows;
Slanting over gloomy waters.

Turmoil. In decayed hut
The spirit of putrescence flutters with black wings.
Crippled birches in the autumn wind.

Evening in deserted tavern. The way home is scented all around
By the soft gloom of grazing herds;
Apparition of the night; toads plunge from brown waters.”
― Georg Trakl

“On building homes for fallen angels:

When I was small - I sought a home,
a place to go and rest my bones.
Then founded something, of my own,
I lived among the restless stones.

If seeking leads you back to evil,
what good is that, I asked a weevil.
He said a home is what you make,
it can't be real, if it is fake...

And if you wait instead of seek,
will you find love, or something bleak?
I know (myself) for I have found,
a beauty, hidden � in a sound.

Waiting is boring.
And so is exploring.
A smile is sometimes all it takes.
And then your whole world simply breaks.”
― Will Advise, Nothing is here...

“There's a certain deeper sort of beauty in the bleak. I see it that bleak is beautiful in part because it is too deathly and grim to fathom itself so.”
― Criss Jami

“Don't look at the present storm, but look to the Son coming.”
― Anthony Liccione

“They had chopped wood here too; then they were gone. Gone to the fields, the small towns, the cities â€� where they died. There was always news coming back to the quarter about someone who had been killed or who had been sent to prison for killing someone else: Snowball, stabbed to death in a nightclub in Port Allen; Claudee, killed by a woman in New Orleans; Smitty, sent to the state penitentiary for manslaughter. And there were others who did not go anywhere but simply died slower”
― Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

“Death appears as the harsh victory of the law of our ancestors of the dimension of our becoming. It is a fact that, as productivity increases, each succeeding generation becomes smaller in stature. The defeat of our fathers is revisited upon us as the limits of our world. Yes, structure is human, it is the monumentalization of congealed sweat, sweat squeezed from old exploitation and represented as nature, the world we inhabit, the objective ground. We do not, in our insect-like comings and going, make the immediate world in which we live, we do not make a contribution, on the contrary we are set in motion by it; a generation will pass before what we have done, as an exploited class, will seep through as an effect of objectivity. (Our wealth is laid down in heaven.) The structure of the world has been built by the dead, they were paid in wages, and when the wages were spent and they were in the ground, what they had made continued to exist, these cities, roads and factories are their calcified bones. They had nothing but their wages to show for what they had done, who they were and what they did has been cancelled out. But what they made has continued into our present, their burial and decay is our present. This is the definition of class hatred. We are no closer now to rest, to freedom, to communism than they were, their sacrifice has brought us nothing, what they did counted for nothing, we have inherited nothing, but they did produce value, they did make the world in which we now live, the world that now oppresses us is constructed from the wealth they made, wealth that was taken from them as soon as they were paid a wage, taken and owned by someone else, owned and used to define the nature of class domination. We too must work, and the value we produce leaks away from us, from each only a trickle but in all a sea of it and that, for the next generation, will thicken into wealth for others to own and as a congealed structure it will be used to frame new enterprises in different directions. The violence of what they produced becomes the structure that dominates our existence. Our lives begin amidst the desecration of our ancestors, millions of people who went to their graves as failures, and forever denied experiences of a full human existence, their simply being canceled out; as our parents die, we can say truly that their lives were for nothing, that the black earth that is thrown down onto them blacks out our sky.”
― Frere Dupont

“the bleakest situations bring out the hospitality in all of us, but it's during the harshest we find out how strong we really are.”
― Evan Meekins, The Black Banner

“There are times when the evil seems so impenetrable, the wickedness so victorious, you don't even know how to hope. But then the good news bursts in, as impossible to deny as it is to believe.”
― Heather Day Gilbert, Trial by Twelve

“The bleakness weighed heavy on her, yet Awa consoled herself with the knowledge that above the clouds, somewhere the sun still shone”
― Rehan Khan, A Tudor Turk

“To think that another person shared my love for the icy bleakness of things.”
― Thomas Ligotti, Teatro Grottesco

“Nirvana's music dragged you across the floor. You felt every crack; every speck of dirt. Their songs helped you locate the places where you ached, and in that awareness of your hurting, you suddenly knew that the bleakness was collective - not merely your own.”
― Carrie Brownstein, Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl

“I had succeeded in appearing mischievous. I had succeeded in escaping from being respected.”
― Osamu Dazai; Donald Keene [trans]

“For the first time in my life, I had begun to feel that kind of slow desolation that rises, little by little, slowly, slowly every day, that one hardly knows it is there. Until that one day when all those small deaths accrue into a kind of leaden weight one feels in the legs and the arms. One cannot move from all that pain that manifests itself as an all-encompassing lack of feeling. That is how strong the pain really is. It cannot admit its own hurt to itself. For once, I would have gladly died in that bed smelling of shit, my hair shaved, my heart no longer a muscle but a kind of extraneous organ not part of myself but beating in spite of myself. It was then that I knew that spite was not a thing to take against a captor, but that spite was a thing to hold against one's self. For I did not want to be alive. Life, and my daily affirmation of it, was not something I wanted, as time went by.”
― Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta, Assembling Alice