Despair is like froward children, who, when you take away one of their playthings, throw the rest into the fire for madness. It grows angry with itself, turns its own executioner, and revenges its misfortunes on its own head. It refuses to live under disappointments and crosses, and chooses rather not to be at all, than to be without the thing which it hath once imagined necessary to its happiness.
Despair makes a despicable figure, and is descended from a mean original. It is the offspring of fear, laziness, and impatience. It argues a defect of spirit and resolution, and oftentimes of honesty too. After all, the exercise of this passion is so troublesome, that nothing but dint of evidence and demonstration should force it upon us. I would not despair unless I knew the irrevocable decree was passed, I saw my misfortune recorded in the book of fate, and signed and sealed by necessity.
One sign of despair is the peremptory contempt of the condition which is the ground of hope; the going on not only in terrors and amazement of conscience, but also boldly, hopingly, and confidently, in wilful habits of sin.
No mans credit can fall so low but that, if he bear his shame as he should do, and profit by it as he ought to do, it is in his own power to redeem his reputation. Therefore let no man despair that desires and endeavours to recover himself again.