Quotes About Solitude

Kids lead a very private life.

In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions: know that you are alone in the world.

The downside of being a writer is you get plenty of time to overthink your life.

But there it is: Everyone is alone, for life, and maybe that's not such a bad thing.

In a certain sense, a writer is an exile, an outsider, always reporting on things, and it is part of his life to keep on the move. Travel is natural.

A home filled with nothing but yourself. It's heavy, that lightness. It's crushing, that emptiness.

People don't always want to be with people. It gets tiring.

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

If you dwell in the darkness, you can see in the dark and look into the light. But in choosing the darkness, you know you are destined to walk alone.

Being alone can be good. It's easy to find peace alone. But sometimes, being alone is a king of death.

Life is hard, we say. An oyster's life is worse. She lives motionless, soundless, her own cold ugly shape her only dissipation.

My life is like a stroll upon the beach.

The single life is not one I willingly chose for myself.

My private life is the most precious thing to me.

In the end, as you get older and older, your life is your life, and you are alone with it.

I enjoy the quiet life.

As an actor, you live a little bit of a cloistered life. It's a lonely life. You oddly, strangely find yourself all alone, quite often, with a lot of time to think.

I wanted to be left alone to live my life, so it was very easy for people to pretend that they were me.

But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and so loving, for a long while ahead and far on into life, is-solitude, intensified and deepened loneness for him who loves.

Monastic life cuts off the distractions and emotional entanglements one becomes involved in, in the lay life.

Your vivid, exciting companionship in the office must not be your audience, you must find your own quiet center of life, and write from that to the world.

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.

Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better? Tell us it then.

What sweet delight a quiet life affords.