Quotes About Solitude

I suppose what one wants really is ideal company and books are ideal company.

My idea of absolute happiness is to sit in a hot garden all day, reading, or writing, utterly safe in the knowledge that the person I love will come home to me in the evening. Every evening.

The evening passes somehow; I watch television with Nancy, or I write. It is difficult, not having a family, and it is difficult to explain. I always go to bed early. And I am always ready for Monday morning, that time that other people dread.

There was no one to whom he could explain that in order to survive he needed to be at altitude, a Himalayan altitude, so he might breathe.

Dorothy is th cool type of temperament who quite frequently thinks that two is a crowd.

To leave, after all, was not the same as being left.

There are more experiences in life than you'd think for which there are no words.

disappearance. He lived alone. She had an idea that he might have been married once, but he didn't talk about children. He lived in Denby

Cold now as the statues of the saints in the church where she knelt to pray.

Alicia was close to tears and wanted to sit on the empty platform and cry in peace.

occurred to her as she passed the big house that she'd have nobody to comfort her in a tragedy. She thought it was probably simpler that way, and besides she'd never been able to cope with sympathy.

You don't think of that when you retire – that you don't have any space to yourself.

I'm not sure Catherine was very close to anybody. She didn't need people. Liz, my wife, was very different. She had so many friends. At her funeral the church was packed, people standing at the back, people I'd never met but who felt close to her, touched by her warmth. I don't know who will come when we bury Catherine. Not many people.' The statement almost took Perez's breath away.

She was so used to living alone that gatherings of people, even people she cared about, freaked her out a bit. It was a sort of claustrophobia and occasionally she felt close to a panic attack.

It is eerie being all but alone in Westminster Abbey. Without the tourists, there are only the dead, many of them kings and queens. They speak powerfully and put my thoughts into vivid perspective.

A week of sweeping fogs has passed over and given me a strange sense of exile and desolation. I walk round the island nearly every day, yet I can see nothing anywhere but a mass of wet rock, a strip of surf, and then a tumult of waves.

I was an only child so, at home, I'm turnt up by myself, doing whatever I wanna do.

People think being alone is a luxury, but it's crucial: Whatever you're not down with about yourself gets loud and in your face.

More than anything there is the sense of scale: you can fly for hours and hours of Alaska and you look down and all you'll see is forests, lakes and snow-capped mountains, with no sign whatsoever of human beings.

I don't feel the need to be in the spotlight whatsoever.

I lock myself up in the apartment when I am writing a script. There's no phone, no Wi-Fi, no distractions whatsoever.

I'm learning not to hold on so tightly to my solitude. It's not an economical way to work. A driver would call it 'white-knuckling.' If you're holding on to the wheel so tightly, it's gonna lock up your driving. Releasing myself from trying to control everything has been part of growing up.

I like my peace and quiet whenever I can grab it.

I try to indulge my muse whenever I am able to get away from it all.