Emilie Autumn Quotes

I can't read or sleep. Without hope or youth or money I sit constantly wishing I were dead.

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.

I don't know as I am fit for anything and I have thought that I could wish to die young and let the remembrance of me and my faults perish in the grave rather than live, as I fear I do, a trouble to everyone.... Sometimes I could not sleep and have groaned and cried till midnight.

I feel so alone sometimes. The night is quiet for me. I'd love to be able to sleep. I'll probably not rest. I have no need for all this. Help me, Lord.

It got to a point where I didn't care if I lived or I died.

I am alive again, now that I can no longer stand to live.

When you commit your life to something and it doesn't work out, it is a tough place to be. Suicide can be the spiritual reprieve of a faithless person. I knew I could always just end it, and there was solace in that.

I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.

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

When he has lost all hope, all object in life, man becomes a monster in his misery.

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

My own life was filled with so much love and joy that when depression struck, it was like a prison door slamming shut and I was being placed in an isolation cell. No one else could possibly be feeling what I was. I hated my depression and all of its symptoms.

It's useless to play lullabies for those who cannot sleep.

There was three or four years of my life where I hated myself and you know, would have quite happily ended it.

When you get to that point where you don't want to live, and you don't want to die, it's a desperate, horrible place to be. And I just hit my knees. And I had to use 'The Passion of the Christ' to heal my wounds.

Sometimes I wonder if suicides aren't in fact sad guardians of the meaning of life.

Nine men in ten are would be suicides.

Why was I feeling this way? Why was everything so bad in my life? I had no answers to these questions.

The counterpart of the suicide is the seeker; but the difference between them is slight.

Did I pray for death? I did one time. I wanted to die so badly. And I didn't want to die. I wanted to rest, you know. And I knew the only rest I would find is in death.

I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?

There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.

Why do I even dare to think I could dream I could imagine I could hope?!

It was always late at night, when everything and everyone else was quiet, that those voices would rise like ghosts, soft and haunting, filling your mind until sleep finally came.

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.