Quotes About Solitude

Sometimes, waking early before the others, wandering the rooms wrapped in a blanket or drinking my tea in the empty kitchen, I had that most rare of feelings, the sense that the world, so consistently overwhelming and incomprehensible, in fact has an order, oblique as it may seem, and I a place within it.

There was no one to call me to bed, no one to demand that the rhythms of my life operate in a duet.

There were many things they simply didn't talk about: between them, silence was not so much a form of evasion as a way for solitary people to exist in a family.

There's no match for the silence of GOD.

left to my own devices, I'm content to wake myself with a fart.

Lonely people are always up in the middle of the night.

Somewhere in the far north of Canada there wuld be snow, falling soundlessly overy the Beaufort Sea, falling over the Artic without a soul to see it. What kind of weather was that, Samson wondered, and how was one to use this information except as proof that the world was too much to bear?

She's kept her love for him as alive as the summer they first met. In order to do this, she's turned life away. Sometimes she subsists for days on water and air.

Loneliness turned into depression

I did it for myself alone, not for anyone else, and that was the difference. It didn't matter if I found the words, and more than that, I knew it would be impossible to find the right ones.

He watched the old man sleep and felt the vast loneliness of the world, the loneliness passed from person to person like a beach ball at a rock concert, kept aloft at all costs, and this was his moment to shoulder it. Or maybe it was his own personal loneliness, a solitary, errant longing no one else could ever know, and the knowledge of this stoked the already existing loneliness, made it widen and blur at the edges until it included everything.

Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.

We do not belong to those who have ideas only among books, when stimulated by books. It is our habit to think outdoors - walking, leaping, climbing, dancing, preferably on lonely mountains or near the sea where even the trails become thoughtful.

Only those thoughts which come from walking have any value

My melancholy wants to rest in the hiding places and abysses of perfection: that is why I need music.

To live alone one must be either a beast or a god, says Aristotle. Leaving out the third case: one must be both - a philosopher.

I go into solitude so as not to drink out of everybody's cistern. When I am among the many I live as the many do, and I do not think I really think. After a time it always seems as if they want to banish my self from myself and rob me of my soul.

Life's most beautiful and inspiring moments occur at 3am, just prowling, looking for nothing but always finding something.

we used to talk all night and do things alone together and i've begun (as a reaction to a feeling) to balance the pleasure of loneliness against the pain of loving you

The night loves the stars as they play about the Darkness...the day loves the light caressing the sun...We love...those who do...because we live in a world requiring light and Darkness...partnership and solitude...sameness and difference...the familiar and the unknown...We love because it's the only true adventure... from Love: Is a Human Condition

what this decade will be known for there is no doubt it is loneliness

Like Hemingway said, the only thing that could spoil a day was people.

Originality thrives in seclusion free of outside influences beating upon us to cripple the creative mind. Be alone–that is the secret of invention.

When shall I at last retire into solitude alone, without companions, without joy and without sorrow, with only the sacred certainty that all is a dream? When, in my rags—without desires—shall I retire contented into the mountains? When, seeing that my body is merely sickness and crime, age and death, shall I—free, fearless, and blissful—retire to the forest? When? When, oh when?