Quotes About Solitude

Your religion is what you do with your solitude.

People run away to be alone,' he said. Some people had to be alone.

My overcoat is worn out my shirts also are worn out. And I ask to be allowed to have a lamp in the evening it is indeed wearisome sitting alone in the dark.

The first time I flew, it was being alive. Nothing was pressing under me. I was living in the fullness of air; air all around me, no holding place to break the air spaces. It's worth everything to be alone in the air, alive.

This perpetual hurry of business and company ruins me in soul if not in body. More solitude and earlier hours!

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

Strongest mindsAre often those of whom the noisy worldHears least.

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room.

I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

That inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude.

I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills...

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much, The self-sufficing power of solitude.

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene, The memory of what has been, And never more will be.

Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.

But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart, And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration;—feelings too Of unremembered pleasures; such, perhaps, As have made no trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life; His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

whom I have loved With such communion, that no place on earth Can ever be a solitude to me

I wandered lonely as a cloud

The Man of Science seeks truth as a remote and unknown benefactor; he cherishes and love it in his solitude: the Poet, singing a song in which all human beings join with him, rejoices in the presence of truth as our visible friend and hourly companion.

By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.

Resigned to vacant musing, Unreproved neglect of all things And deliberate holiday.