I've been so unhappy for years, so unhappy . . . I don't understand how a human being can be so unhappy all the time and still be alive.

Ducane knew that Willy had looked forward to this visit. He knew too that the visit was rendering Willy unspeakably miserable.

The easiest thing to think was that he was going to die. This was not exactly an intent to commit suicide, though he did consider suicide, it was rather a sense of the impossibility of surviving much longer, whatever he did, whatever he chose. He felt rent apart by an unremitting mental, felt as physical, strain. When he was alone he groaned aloud.

I need love, I've never felt more in need of it than now. I feel so terribly terribly unhappy.