Quotes About Solitude

I will be waiting by candlelight in our tree house of the mind.

I was less a social butterfly than a social death's-head moth.

In the winter, when you're cold, the world extends no more than a foot in any direction.

asleep, her eyes partly shut as she tramped across the dew-soaked grass. Today she had on a thick white fluffy cap with

a place to throw down a blanket and read a book.

But the desert offers something that no forest brook or valley ever can: distance. A

When she cries, it is quiet, tearless, almost completely imperceptible: one more unheard prayer.

It seemed like the only thing to do was to crank the volume of my tape of British music in protest. Even though I was the only one who could hear it, I felt like I was doing something important.

He used books the same way he used alcohol: to pretend that he was not here, and if he was here, that he was happy for a change.

Book lovers are engaged with writers in a private communion that occurs in some vaporous cenacle of the mind.

Off they went down the highway, the taillights fading, the song dying, the black metal of the car melting into the fabric of night, and then there was only the whispery sound of good tires on wet cement and finally not even that. Just the blowing sound of the wind and the rain.

It was always dark in my daydreams

The whole thing made Bill lonely as the last pig in a slaughterhouse line.

I put out the lamp, left Hog snoring, crept outside, and got some air, which was rich and sticky, like a sweaty horse shank, full of the sounds of cicadas and crickets and more than a few bleating frogs.

A boy standing in the rain, and what is he thinking?

Resentment, anger, and fear all were gone. Only sadness remained. She gathered her collar against the wind and returned to her car in the waning light of the November day.

There is a peculiar anonymity about being in tents. Once the zip is closed and the outside world barred from sight, all sense of location disappears.

Kill your darlings, die alone.

Talents are best nurtured in solitude; but character is best formed in the stormy billows of the world.

The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains, rivers and cities, but to know that there is someone who, though distant, thinks and feels with us -- this makes the earth for us an inhabited garden.

The strong man is strongest when alone.

The ocean makes you feel like the world is greeting you with a soft, wet, welcoming indifference. It's never going to argue back, no matter how loud you yell.

Twitter makes you feel that the whole world is obsessed with you and your little ego-- it loves you, it hates you, it's talking about you right now. The ocean makes you feel like the world is greeting you with a soft, wet, welcoming indifference. It's never going to argue back, no matter how loud you yell.

La soledad en este paraíso terrenal es un bálsamo genial para mi mente,