Quotes About Solitude

I see nobody on the road,' said Alice. 'I only wish I had such eyes,' the King remarked in a fretful tone. 'To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance, too! Why, it's as much as I can do to see real people, by this light!

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again.

A dog's bark amid the water's sound, Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain. Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer, And at the stream I hear no noonday bell. Wild bamboo divides the green mist, A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak. No-one knows the place to which he's gone, Sadly, I lean on two or three pines

SITTING ALONE ON JINGTING SHAN HILL A flock of birds is flying high in the distance, A lonely cloud drifts idly on its own. We gaze at each other, neither growing tired, There is only Jingting Shan.

QUESTION AND ANSWER ON THE MOUNTAIN You ask for what reason I stay on the green mountain, I smile, but do not answer, my heart is at leisure. Peach blossom is carried far off by flowing water, Apart, I have heaven and earth in the human world.

VISITING THE TAOIST PRIEST DAI TIANSHAN, BUT NOT FINDING HIM A dog's bark amid the water's sound, Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain. Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer, And at the stream I hear no noonday bell. Wild bamboo divides the green mist, A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak. No-one knows the place to which he's gone, Sadly, I lean on two or three pines.

SENT TO DU FU BELOW SHAQUI CITY What is it that I've come to now? High before me: Shaqiu city. Beside the city, ancient trees; The sunset joins the autumn sounds. The Lu wine cannot make me drunk, Qi's songs cannot restore my feelings. My thoughts of you are like the Wen's waters, Mightily sent on their southern journey.

SEEING OFF MENF HAORAN FOR GUANLING AT YELLOW CRANE TOWER My old friend's said goodbye to the west, here at Yellow Crane Tower, In the third month's cloud of willow blossoms, he's going down to Yangzhou. The lonely sail is a distant shadow, on the edge of a blue emptiness, All I see is the Yangtze River flow to the far horizon.

And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path; that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it.

The dark does not weep for itself because there is no light. Rather, it accepts that it is the dark.

I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.

Maybe girls need an island to find themselves. Maybe they need a place where no one's is watching them so they can be who they really are

Goodbye, I whisper at last, when it no longer matters and there is no one to hear it but the window.

And now if you'll excuse me, I should like to finish my book, alone, without the presence of a single ringleted girl to disrupt me. If you should come for me at dinner and find me in my chair, gone to the angels at last, you shall know that I died alone, which is to say in a state of utter bliss.

I've the run of the place, and so i spend some time exploring, climbing steep stairs into thin turrets whose windows give me a bird's-eye view of the land surrounding Spence. I flit past locked doors and dark, paneled rooms that seem more like museum exhibits than living, breathing places. I wander until it is dark and past the time when I should be in bed, not that I think anyone shall be searching for me.

The isolation swelled and became overpowering. Anna pulled

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.

He didn't know why he was running away. Maybe because being close to someone took a hell of a lot more guts than being alone.

Depression is boring, I think, and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave. —ANNE SEXTON, "THE FURY OF RAIN STORMS

It hurt to be so alone. It hurt to be forgotten.

There is no real aloneness. There is solitude and the nurturing silence that is relationship with ourselves, but even then we are part of something larger.

She had always enjoyed her sense of being alone, envisioning herself as a ball that rolled through life, bumping into other lives but not stopping.

Si una mujer con el aspecto de la Venus de Praxíteles se hubiese apeado de una fuente para sentarse en mi regazo, ataviada un par de sandalias de fantasía y una sonrisa, la habría apartado y me habría alejado para rumiar a solas.

Pain is not what you see and not what you feel. Pain is what you can only hear, alone in the dark.