Quotes About Solitude

Pain. Unspeakable pain. It didn't matter who in this world or any other was staring at me, watching me, seeking to share this moment or merely shuddering as I experienced it. Just didn't matter. Because in pain like this one is always alone.

He had never expected death to be this quiet, this secretive, this easy.

I hear nothing. I hear nothing, but what does it mean that I hear nothing? I walk in the cemeteries of this city at night and I hear nothing. I walk among mortals and sometimes I hear nothing. I walk alone and I hear nothing, as if I myself had no inner voice.

I have it in my heart. It's mine alone, this pain.

Like all strong people, she suffered always a measure of loneliness;

It seemed at momemts, When I sat alone in the dark stateroom, that the sky had come down to meet the sea and some great secert was to be revealed.

He was tired and full of shame, and if Ernestino and the others wouldn't brave this rain, he would go it alone, he would find some place to sing, some place where, anonymous and numbed by drink, he could sing until he had forgotten everything.

But he could not go up to the room as yet, and seating himself on a stone step, his head on his arms, he wept silently. Years had passed since he had shed tears, or so it seemed. Surely years since he had let them flow so copiously. And what stopped him finally was that he could hear his own crying.

Too many voices out there in the night.

buckled under the weight of a loneliness so terrible I would have chosen death then if only I'd had such a choice.

It seemed at moments, when I sat alone in the dark stateroom, that the sky had come down the meet the sea and some great secret was to be revealed.

His mind was horrifyingly empty and still; and he felt the loneliness and the stillness of the rooms completely.

All I want here is a certain space, a certain peace. Or not to be here at all.

hands shoved into the pockets of my jeans.

I sat watching, listening, one hand shielding my lowered face from anyone and no one, my elbow resting on the rail, the passion in me subsiding, the taste of the girl on my lips. It was as though on the smell of the rain came her perfume still, and in the empty theater I could hear the throb of her beating heart.

It was a lie to give him over to the daylight, to companionship other than my own.

The silence of the golden room answered. It was as cold as the shrine in the mountains. I

She was introspective when drunk, did a lot of singing and writing and dancing about during such periods, and demanded to be left alone.

She felt herself turning inward, away from all of it, back into the darkness, into the dark water whence she'd come.

I lay down to sleep in the shrine and knew only dark and troubled dreams.

For with solitude had come freedom.

Loneliness and solitude have imprinted her most strangely on my mind. I see her. I hear her voice.

like to cry alone. It felt so marvelously good, to cry and cry, totally removed from any hint of censure! No one to tell you yes or no, no one to beg for forgiveness, no one to intervene.

no courage to do it himself. I walked black streets and alleys alone; I passed out in cabarets.