Quotes About Solitude

Deep forests, dark caves, dim churches, half-lit libraries were all the same, they turned you down, they dampened your ardor, they brought you to murmurs and soft cries for fear of raising up phantom twins of your voice which might haunt corridors long after your passage.

They felt lonely. They felt so alone, they wanted to cry.

They want to know what I do with all my time. I tell them that sometimes I just sit and think. But I won't tell them what. I've got them running.

Deep, deep down in the deepest Deeps. Isn't that a word now, Johnny, a real word, it says so much: the Deeps. There's all the coldness and darkness and deepness in the world in a word like that.

Mireasma fanului uscat si curgerea domoala a apei trezira in el dorinta de a se culca intr-o claie de fan proaspat, intr-un sopron singuratic, departe de autostrazile zgomotoase, in spatele vreunei ferme linistite, sub vreo moara veche de vant, care sa vuiasca lin, cu vuietul anilor ce trec. Ar sta treaz toata noaptea in sopronul acela, ascultand zvoana departata a jivinelor, ganganiilor si copacilor, freamatul si forfota lor marunta.

I wish I had known him, but he was just another shadow outside my screen door and I already had a sufficiency of shadows in.

Here you lie in the tremendous web. Others are about you, but they are whole—whole hearts and bodies. But all of you that lives is back there walking the desolate seas in evening winds. This thing here, this cold clay thing, is already dead.

Let me alone," said Mildred. "I didn't do anything." "Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?

Behind him the lights of the lonely little store blinked out and there was only a street light shimmering on the corner, and the whole city seemed to be going to sleep.

Now, sucking all the night into his open mouth and blowing it out pale, with all the blackness left heavily inside himself...

Wandering alone in the library, letting his broom tell him things no one else could hear, he had heard the whistle and the disjointed calliope hymns.

Nadie tiene ya tiempo para nadie.

Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I let myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?

Montag watched the great dust settle and the great silence move down upon their world. And lying there it seemed that he saw every grain of dust and every blade of grass and that he heard every cry and shout and whisper going up in the world now.

N'est-ce pas agréable de se promener à cette heure de la nuit ? J'aime humer les choses, regarder les choses, et il m'arrive de rester toute la nuit debout, à marcher, et de regarder le soleil se lever. (Clarisse McClellan)

Y a esta enfermedad la llamaban la soledad, porque cuando uno ve que su casa se reduce hasta tener el tamaño de un puño, de una nuez, de una cabeza de alfiler, y luego desaparece detrás de una estela de fuego, uno siente que nunca ha nacido, que no hay ciudades, que uno no está en ninguna parte, y sólo hay espacio alrededor, sin nada familiar, sólo otros hombres extraños.

My heart stopped talking because it didn't want to talk anymore for a while.

Ha muerto. El corazón. —Lo lamento. —¿Cómo se siente? —Hathaway no quería que nos sintiéramos mal. Nos dijo que esto ocurriría en cualquier momento, y no quería que lloráramos. No nos enseñó a llorar. No quería que supiéramos hacerlo. Según él, nada peor puede ocurrirle a un hombre que saber cómo estar solo, y cómo estar triste, y ponerse a llorar.

This was all he wanted now. Some sign that the immense world would accept him and give him the long time he needed to think all the things that must be thought.

We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered?

Will listened, cold but warming, glad to be in with a roof above, floor below, wall and door between too much exposure, too much freedom, too much night.

Montag paced the floor and came back and squatted down and read a page as many as ten times, aloud.

going away from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapours for supper.

ALone, she snuggled luxuriously down through the warm snowbank of linen and wool, sheet and cover, and the colors of the patchwork quilt were bright as the circus banners of old time. Lying there, she felt as small and secret as on those mornings eighty-some-odd years ago when, wakening, she comforted her tender bones in bed.