Quotes About Solitude

I do believe that long periods of silence and introspection do a great deal to enrich a person's spiritual and emotional dimensions.

Lonely was much better than alone.

You already alone. If you want more alone, I can knock you into the middle of next week, and leave you there.

She looked around for a place to be. A small place. The closet? ... It was both small and bright, and she wanted to be in a very small, very bright place. Small enough to contain her grief.Bright enough to throw into relief the dark things that cluttered her.Once inside, she sank to the tile floor next to the toilet. On her knees, her hand on the cold rim of the bathtub, she waited for something to happen…inside.

They were solitary little girls whose loneliness was so profound it intoxicated them and sent them stumbling into Technicolored visions that always included a presence, a someone, who, quite like the dreamer, shared the delight of the dream.

Lay my head on the railroad line, Train come along, pacify my mind.

Kalabal?klar içinde olmak isteyenler yaln?zl?k çekenlerdir hep.

Carefully they replaced the soil and covered the entire grave with uprooted grass. Neither one had spoken a word.

First a playroom (where the silence was softer), then a refuge (from her brothers' fright), soon the place became the point.

Her eyes, fixed on the window, are so expressionless he is not sure she will know who he is. There is too much light here in this room. Things look sold.

There is a loneliness that can be rocked. It's an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own.

THERE IS a loneliness that can be rocked.

She waiting impatiently for him to turn away and settle into a wet skim of satisfaction and light disgust, leaving her to the postcoital privateness in which she met herself, welcomed herself, and joined herself in matchless harmony.

They had become an occasional mutter, like the interior sounds a woman makes when she believes she is alone and unobserved at her work: a sth when she misses the needle's eye; a soft moan when she sees another chip in her one good platter; the low friendly argument with which she greets the hens.

She opened the door, walked in and locked it tight behind her.

Solitude, competitiveness and grief are the unavoidable lot of a writer only when there is no organization or network to which he can turn.

They were troublesome thoughts, but they wouldn't go away. Under the moon, on the ground, alone, with not even the sound of baying dogs to remind him that he was with other people, his self--the cocoon that was personality--gave way. He could barely see his own hand, and couldn't see his feet. He was only his breath, coming slower now, and his thoughts. The rest of him disappeared. So the thoughts came, unobstructed by other people, by things, even by the sight of himself.

It's amazing how much time there is when you're unhappy.

It was as though he no longer needed to drink to forget whatever it was he could not remember. Now he could not remember that he had ever forgotten anything. Perhaps that was why for the first time after that old day in France he was beginning to miss the presence of other people. Shadrack had improved enough to feel lonely. If he was lonely before, he didn't know because the noise he kept up, the roaring, the busyness protected him from knowing it.

She looked around for a place to be. A small place. The closet? No. Too dark. The bathroom. It was both small and bright, an she wanted to be in a very small, very bright place. Small enough to contain her grief. Bright enough to throw into relief the dark things that cluttered her.

She looked around for a place to be. A small place. The closet? No. Too dark. The bathroom. It was both small and bright, and she wanted to be in a very small, very bright place. Small enough to contain her grief. Bright enough to throw into relief the dark things that cluttered her.

Kendini ancak keÅŸiÅŸlerin anlayabileceÄŸi sanatlara kapt?rmam?? ve doÄŸaya kar??abilen baÅŸka bir varl??a dönüÅŸmemiÅŸ olsa yaln?zl?k onu ezip geçerdi. KuÅŸlarla ÅŸakala??yor, bitkilerle sohbet ediyor, sincaplarla konuÅŸuyor, ineÄŸe ÅŸark? söyleyip aÄŸz?n? yaÄŸmur suyuyla dolduruyordu.

The loneliness she felt before Frank walked her home from Wang's cleaners began to dissolve and in its place a shiver of freedom, of earned solitude, of choosing the walls she wanted to breakthrough, minus the burden of shouldering a tilted man. Unobstructed and undistracted, she could get serious and develop a plan to match her ambition and succeed.

She had not lived by the sea all those years, listened to the wharfman's songs all that time, to spend her life in the soundless cave of Elihue's mind.