Quotes About Solitude

As the country at large grows more stressful as a dwelling place, the quiet, remoteness, and solitude of a week on a wild river become more and more precious to more and more people.

We simply need that wild country available to us, even if we never do more than drive to its edge and look in.

We simply need that wild country available to us, even if we never do more than drive to its edge and look in. For it can be a means of reassuring ourselves of our sanity as creatures, a part of the geography of hope.

I placed a jar in Tennessee,And round it was, upon a hill.It made the slovenly wildernessSurround that hill.

Of the Surface of Things In my room, the world is beyond my understanding; But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four Hills and a cloud.

One must have a mind of winter.

It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.

It was her voice that made The sky acutest at its vanishing. She measured to the hour its solitude. She was the single artificer of the world In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea, Whatever self it had, became the self That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we, As we beheld her striding there alone, Knew that there never was a world for her Except the one she sang and, singing, made.

I placed a jar in Tennessee and round it was upon a hill.

Poets are never lonely even when they pretend to be.

The salt hung on his spirit like a frost, The dead brine melted in him like a dew Of winter, until nothing of himself Remained, except some starker, barer self In a starker, barer world, in which the sun Was not the sun because it never shone With bland complaisance...

We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable.

Let the place of the solitaires Be a place of perpetual undulation. Whether it be in mid-sea On the dark, green water-wheel, Or on the beaches, There must be no cessation Of motion, or of the noise of motion, The renewal of noise And manifold continuation; And, most, of the motion of thought And its restless iteration, In the place of the solitaires, Which is to be a place of perpetual undulation

Not less because in purple I descended The western day, through what you called The loneliest air, not less was I myself

Life seemed nearest to acceptable at four A.M.

The greatest griefs are silent.

Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed.

After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains.

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and looked at the crowded heaven.

A great painter of men must (as has been said) have a faculty of conversing, but he must also have a capacity for solitude. There is much of mankind that a man can only learn from himself.

The Arctic expresses the sum of all wisdom: Silence.

As the world gathers momentum toward nihilation on all fronts --- we walk apart, each to his own lonely end . . . not hand in hand as lovers walk.

Yes, after all, this by now was his customary loneliness: there was little else he desired for the present than the hospitality of the dark.

Durante esos largos de años de soledad y sufrimiento, Dios me condujo a una comprensión de la vida y de su amor que solo quienes la han experimentado son capaces de entender. Me despojó de muchos de los consuelos externos, físicos y religiosos, en los que se apoya el hombre y me dejó como única guía un núcleo esencial de verdades aparentemente simples.