What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one's self! - Nathaniel Hawthorne

There was a listlessness in his gait, as if he saw no reason for taking one step further, nor felt any desire to do so, but would have been glad, could he be glad of anything, to fling himself down at the root of the nearest tree, and lie there passive for evermore. The leaves might bestrew him, and the soil gradually accumulate and form a little hillock over his frame, no matter whether there were life in it or no. Death was too definite an object to be wished for or avoided.

She could no longer borrow from the future to ease her present grief.

Nervous and excitable persons need to talk a great deal, by way of letting off their steam.