Quotes About Solitude

You got nobody in this life to look out for you except yourself.

Ici, je me cache quand je veux. Je puis me cacher des jours et des jours, sans qu'on sache si j'existe ou non, et, sans que je le sache bien moi-même. Je m'enferme là-haut. Je lis, je dors, je rêve. Je ne bouge plus.

invite a person to a log cabin in the woods for a weekend. The true personality emerges every time.

I like the desert for short periods of time, from inside a car, with the windows rolled up, and the doors locked. I prefer beach resorts with room service.

Some stones are so heavy only silence helps you carry them!

When you are alone - at sea, in the polar dark - an absence can keep you alive. The one you love maintains your mind. But when she's merely across the city, this is an absence that eats you to the bone.

For sleep, one needs endless depths of blackness to sink into; daylight is too shallow, it will not cover one.

What a commentary on civilization, when being alone is being suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it — like a secret vice.

Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.

Women need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves.

I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before.

The beach is not a place to work; to read, write or to think.

The mountains are so beautiful they make me ache inside because the moment I look away I know I shall need to see them again. And I cannot spend the rest of my life standing on the spot staring at shifting sunlight and mist and shadows across the sea.

There is nothing so entirely desirable in all the world as a few hours' oblivion.

The rest of my room is book shelves. I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.

If you have endured a great despair, then, you did it alone.

This November there seems to be nothing to say.

Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?

The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.

Alone in our place I was a guest.

I have a room of my own. Rain drops onto it. Rain drops down like worms From the trees onto my frontal bone. Haunted, always haunted by rain, the room affirms The words that I will make alone. — Mother And Jack and The Rain.

I need someone, aside from pain, to rock me out, away, alone.

I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.

Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.