Quotes About Solitude

I am sorry, my darling, but there will never be another to replace you. The words I whispered to you were folly, and should have realized it then. You- and you alone- have always been the only thing I wanted, and now that you are gone have no desire to find another.

The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by.

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

I'm alone. I'm going to end up dying alone.

he was glad that he'd never had to live near people who pushed paper for a living and weren't comfortable if the temperature at work wasn't exactly seventy-two degrees.

He worked out his frustration with life on the creek every morning.

No necesito a nadie —susurró él con la voz rasgada.

Aside from the brief period after Victor's death, sleep

Even the creek is still. In the darkness it looks like empty space, and I find that I'm drawn to its mystery.

And now I'm back outside again sitting in the white plastic chair looking at the dew on the gas cap of my car. A fly wants to bit me on the ankle. The mosquitoes are all asleep. They're just not out at this hour. Only one biting fly. And a mourning dove, who blows through his thumbs to make that sound.

Reading is itself a state of artificially enhanced loneliness.

I'd stay there, or not, and I'd eat, or not, and I'd drink, or not, and go home, or not, and what I did or didn't do wouldn't matter to anyone at all. And I walked for most of the day. Do people get sad on holiday sometimes? I can imagine they do, having all that time to think.

Everyone disliked their partners at some time or another, she knew that. But she'd spent her hours in the dark wondering whether she'd ever liked him. Would it really have been so much worse to spend those years alone? Why did there have to be someone else in the room while she was eating, watching TV, sleeping?

It was as if I were powerless to resist the temptation; my senses were overcome. I could hear the emptiness, and taste the silence, and smell the solitude, and I wanted it more than I have ever wanted anything before.

he's lonely, and lonely people are the bitterest of them all.

he was home on his own and listening to the sort of music he needed to listen to when he felt like this, music that seemed to find the sore spot in him and press up hard against it...

What I needed more than anything was a place where unfocused unhappiness could thrive, where I could be still and worry and mope: I had the blues, and when I watched my team I could unwrap them and let them breathe a little.

You could shut life out. If you didn't answer the door to it, how was it going to get in?

Do you really feel that out of place, that lonely? Because I feel that lonely, too. Sometimes I feel like I'm just watching my daily life play out on a giant projection screen, while I'm living my real life in my head, or something. I don't know. If I was in a room with a thousand people, I'd still feel alone.

She liked time at the edges of things -- the edge of the crowd, the edge of the pool, the edge of the wood -- where all must pass but none quite belonged.

He spoke of human solitude, about the intrinsic loneliness of a sophisticated mind, one that is capable of reason and poetry but which grasps at straws when it comes to understanding another, a mind aware of the impossibility of absolute understanding. The difficulty of having a mind that understands that it will always be misunderstood.

Aside from myself, there was no sign of me.

That he liked to think of himself as a philosopher. That he questioned all things, even the most simple, to the extent that when someone passing him on the street raised his hat and said, 'Good day,' Litvinoff often paused so long to weigh evidence that by the time he'd settled on an answer the person had gone on his way, leaving him standing alone.

Empty teacups gathered around her and dictionary pages fell at her feet.