Quotes About Solitude

She liked her life simple and private.

She read in her room by the light of an oil lamp until mind and body gave way to fatigue.

You only have to be alone when you want to be alone.

It pulled at her, as such scenes often did, and she found herself leaving the scent of coffee, grabbing her Nikon, and rushing out barefoot into the chilly night to photograph the deserted street. It soothed her as nothing else could. With a camera in her hand and an image in her mind, she could forget everything else.

November afternoon in her

dead. Standing

She could slip into the storeroom from there for the belated alone.

She smiled away the bellman's offer to fetch her ice, or anything she might wish. She only wanted solitude again. The airports, the plane

quietly. "To the cliffs and caves, while we have the sun." "There you go. They can't come out. Nothing

alone and let me sleep.

He wasn't for her, and she knew it... She wasn't even sure she wanted anybody to be for her—right now, anyway.

I am haunted by waters.

One great thing about fly fishing is that after a while nothing exists of the world but thoughts about fly fishing. It is also interesting that thoughts about fishing are often carried on in dialogue form where Hope and Fear—or, many times, two Fears—try to outweigh each other. One

Eventually the watcher joined the river, and there was only one of us. I believe it was the river.

In reading he found solitude. In reading he could dispel the blare of the world.

What is going to happen in the course of my day that will be an improvement over lying on something very soft, underneath something very warm, wearing only underwear, doing absolutely nothing, all by myself?

I am ready to be alone.

Maybe I don't need a relationship after all, she thought. Maybe thinking about these conversations was just as good as having them. She could sit in her Honda in the dark and experience whatever kind of life she wanted. Sometimes you think, Hey, maybe there's something else out there. But there really isn't. This is what being alive feels like, you know? The place doesn't matter. You just live.

No stories were viral. No celebrity was trending. The world was still big. The country was still vast. You could just be a little person, with your own little life and your own little thoughts. You didn't have to have an opinion, and nobody cared if you did or did not. You could be alone on purpose, even in a crowd.

I care about strangers when they're abstractions but feel almost nothing when they are literally in front of me. They seem like unnamed characters in a poorly written novel about myself, which was poorly written by me.

I wake up, I feel the inescapable oppression of the sunlight pouring through my bedroom window, and I am struck by the fact that I am alone. And that everyone is alone. And that everything I understood seven hours ago has already changed, and that I have to learn everything again.

I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.

Everyone's in their own personal coma.

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, doesn't it just lie there and rot?