Quotes About Solitude

Writers are solitaries by vocation and necessity. I sometimes think the test is not so much talent, which is not as rare as people think, but purpose or vocation, which manifests in part as the ability to endure a lot of solitude and keep working. Before writers are writers they are readers, living books, through books, in the lives of others that are also the head of others, in that act that is so intimate and yet so alone.

Introspection is often portrayed as an indoor, solitary thing, the monk in his cell, the writer at her desk.

Books are solitudes in which we meet

The evening hour, too, gives us the irresponsibility which darkness and lamplight bestow," she writes. "We are no longer quite ourselves. As we step out of the house on a fine evening between four and six, we shed the self our friends know us by and become part of that vast republican army of anonymous trampers, whose society is so agreeable after the solitude of one's own room.

For twenty years I have sat alone at a desk tinkering with sentences and then sending them out, and for most of my literary life the difference between throwing something in the trash and publishing it was imperceptible...

This is the strange life of books that you enter alone as a writer, mapping an unknown territory that arises as you travel. If you succeed in the voyage, others enter after, one at a time, also alone, but in communion with your imagination, traversing your route. Books are solitudes in which we meet.

So I went out alone into a soft day, with the dispelled winter lurking above in high dark clouds under which there ran quick fresh currents of air, and broken shafts of insistent sunshine that spread a grey clarity of light in which every colour showed sharp and strong.:

Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander on the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while dry leaves are blowing.

Wir sind anderen ja auch nur zumutbar, wenn wir auch allein mit uns selbst zurechtkommen.

AÃ…Â¥ je bouÃ…â"¢e, nebo sn?ží, ve white-outu, nebo ve stanu, Wild žalu ostatních nepÃ…â"¢izvukuje. Nikdy.

Je vd??ný, že se nikdo nevzteká, a odpoledne opravuje pal?áky. NÄ›kolik muž? ho pÃ…â"¢i tom ml?ky sleduje. HorÅ¡í by bylo, myslí si, kdyby z té naÅ¡í jeskynÄ› už nikdo nevylezl. PÃ…â"¢ece jenom je trochu uklid?ující sledovat, jak jim roste odvaha jenom proto, že se dívají, že nÄ›co dÄ›lám.

I am a fool who with his longing for love and tenderness runs up cold mountains.

To be a member of such a crowd ... is not much to be far removed from solitude; the freedom of everyone is assured by the freedom to which everyone else lays claim.

And then there were the wallflowers who had recognized for years that the thing was hopeless, who had found in that information a kind of calm. They no longer tried, with a bright and desperate effort, to sustain a conversation with somebody's brother, somebody's usher, somebody's roommate, somebody's roommate's usher's brother... The category of wallflower who had given up on all this was very quiet, not indifferent, only quiet. And she always brought a book.

The mountain also represents the power of vision and of enlightenment. It presents the struggle against inner ghosts; the victory over fear of solitude, silence, and the void; the capability of the awakening of the divine element within man; the power of transcendence that allows us to ascend to the top of the self.

He knows that when she passes, a grief will rip through him unlike anything he has ever known. Preparing for it doesn't help. He just knows it will come. It is like realizing you are sailing a boat across an ocean and soon you will find the other shore- it will be just you and acres of dry, blinding white sand. There may be trees on that island, and sun, and food, but none of it will feel or taste right, because you will stand there and realize: I am alone.

For the memory of their time together was all she would ever have in the empty years to come.

What was life like here before I came?" Empty, she wanted to say. Before you came into my life it was empty, hollow, and lonely.

No puedo decir nada, salvo leer y recordar frases ajenas.

Wisdom is found on the desolate hillside... where none comes to feed, and the stony bank where the rabbit scratches a hole in vain.

One cloud feels lonely.

carrying money, food and the seal ring of Bel-ka-Trazet, set out alone for Lak. BOOK VI

My airplane is quiet, and for a moment still an alien, still a stranger to the ground, I am home.

His one sorrow was not solitude, it was that other gulls refused to believe the glory of flight that awaited them; they refused to open their eyes and see.