Quotes About Solitude

Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.

Yes I do enjoy walking at night. The world's a lot more to my liking then, not so loud, not so fast, not so crowded, and a great deal more mysterious

You cannot fully read a book without being alone. But through this very solitude you become intimately involved with people whom you might never have met otherwise, either because they have been dead for centuries or because they spoke languages you cannot understand. And nonetheless, they have become your closest friends, your wisest advisors, the wizards that hypnotize you, the lovers you have always dreamed of. Antonio Muñoz Molinas, "The Power of the Pen

She] did not reply. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to listen to what her bewildered heart was telling her.

You cannot fully read a book without being alone. But through this very solitude you become intimately involved with people whom you might never have met otherwise, either because they have been dead for centuries or because they spoke languages you cannot understand. And nonetheless, they have become your closest friends, your wisest advisors, the wizards that hypnotize you, the lovers you have always dreamed of. Antonio Muñoz Molinas, "The Power of the

Creo que ella se alimenta de letras. Toda su casa está abarrotada de libros. Ella los prefiere claramente a la compañía de las personas

For one short moment he had a crazy urge to lie down on one of the mattresses, to light a few of the many candles around the place, and to forget everything that had happened since his ninth birthday.

He had never taken any interest in what came after death, either in this world or the other one. Probably just silence, silence without a single word of comfort.

so silent you could almost have forgotten he was there.

There's something really liberating about having some corner of your life that's yours, that no one gets to see except you. It's a little like nudity or taking a dump. Everyone gets naked every once in a while. Everyone has to squat on the toilet. There's nothing shameful, deviant or weird about either of them.

If you've never stared off into the distance, then your life is a shame.

Often I feel I go to some distant region of the world to be reminded of who I really am… Stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines… you are forced into direct experience [which] inevitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience.

I actually liked the disolation of winter; it was the season when it was okay to be unhappy. If I were to ever kill myself, I thought it would be in the summer.

I liked being around other people during the day, and I was relieved to be alone late at night; it was the latter that made the former possible. In fact, setting up my nest often made me think of a Wordsworth phrase I'd learned in English class as a high school junior: emotion recollected in tranquillity.

Long ago I had become my own confidant.

Today I live on an island, in a house that is sad, hard, severe, that I built for myself, solitary on a sheer rock over the sea: a house that is the spectre, the secret image of prison. The image of my nostalgia. Maybe I never desired, not even then, to escape from jail. Man is not meant to live freely in freedom, but to be free inside a prison.

Finché giunsi in vista del mare. Il mare mi turbò, e mi misi a piangere. Nulla, né fiume, né pianura, né montagna, e neppure un albero, neppure una nuvola, dà l'idea della libertà quanto il mare.

She thought it might have been his thought that wakened her, as he crept toward the solitary holding; she thought that the danger in his thoughts had reached out to awaken her as surely as an alarm bell ringing out across the night.

They wouldn't know that grief had come down up on him unbearably, and he must be alone to put his arms around her, and feel her arms around him, to take enough comfort from grieving so that he could return to finish the business of the day.

Jeff had made himself a place, inside himself, a kind of tower room, round, without any windows. In that room, he had locked his memory of the beach on the island, all the memories from the day hours and from the night hours. He had discovered how to step inside that room and slide the curved door closed and bolt it across.

art is made by the alone for the alone… The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication...

So he left her, and she was alone. Very few people cared for her, and she for very few people. She remained alone with herself, waiting.

If only there weren't so many other people in the world,' he said lugubriously.

He felt if he could not be alone, and if he could not be left alone, he would die.