Quotes About Solitude

It was the first time she'd experienced separation, and the empty feeling deep inside her hurt something awful. She had no one to talk to, no one to explain the hollowness.

It's only in silence that people can truly hear themselves. ... Even great joy is sometimes best expressed through silence.

Ellie closed her eyes and felt the aching loneliness well up inside her chest.

When I'm in turmoil, when I can't think, when I'm exhausted and afraid and feeling very, very alone, I go for walks. It's just one of those things I do. I walk and I walk and sooner or later something comes to me, something to make me feel less like jumping off a building.

Alone. It's one of those small words that means entirely too much. Like fear. Or trust.

I always considered myself a loner. I mean, not like a poor-me, Byron-esque, I-should-have-brought-a-swimming-buddy loner. I mean the sort of person who doesn't feel too upset about the prospect of a weekend spent seeing no one, and reading good books on the couch. It wasn't like I was a people hater or anything. I enjoyed activities and the company of friends. But they were a side dish. I always thought I would be happy without them.

If you weren't getting pretty close to crazy right now, would you be talking to yourself right now?

We wizards are terrific at brooding.

More than anything, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. I wanted to be not.

but once you put all the stupid things I do aside, I'm really not all that interesting. I like reading, staying home, going on walks with my dog—it's like I'm already a retiree. Who wants to hear about that? Especially when I would have to scream it over the music to which no one dances.

And as I looked at him, I suddenly felt, for the very first time in my life, utterly, entirely alone. That something was gone that would never return, that a little hole had been hollowed out inside of me that wasn't ever going to be filled again.

I'm really not all that interesting. I like reading, staying home, going on walks with my dog—it's like I'm already a retiree. Who wants to hear about that? Especially when I would have to scream it over the music to which no one dances.

I pressed past the outer branches of the lilacs and found a small and relatively open space in the middle. Then I waited.

When I'm in turmoil, when I can't think, when I'm exhausted and afraid and feeling very, very alone, I go for walks. It's just one of those things I do. I walk and I walk and sooner or later something comes to me, something to make me feel less like jumping off a building.

It was the same thing, resting in my grave. Peace. I wasn't going anywhere and it made me happy. If only I'd brought a book, my day would have been perfect.

Everyone dies alone. That's what it is. It's a door. It's one person wide. When you go through it, you do it alone.

And as I looked at him, I suddenly felt, for the very first time in my life, utterly, entirely alone. That something was gone that would never return, that a little hole had been hollowed out inside of me that wasn't ever going to be filled again.

After that, my whole body felt deliciously warm, monstrously tired, and the sleep that had evaded me seemed, finally, to be within reach. It got dark. It got quiet. And I realized that I was all by myself. Die alone, whispered a bitter, hateful old man's voice.

I closed the door behind me, while life went on.

Isabel saw all their lives becoming history in units of days and nights so fatally private there was no one left for her to love.

I was feeling right at home all by myself. The woods can be a bit strange. It takes a long time to feel you belong there and then you never again really belong in town. It's a choice made for you by your brain at a moment you don't notice.

Pain (2) ...You want to give up, throw in the towel but you can't give up because you're all you have.

If you dive down deep enough there are no words to bring you up. Not my problem. If you fly too high there are no words to help you land. I went back to my land of bears and learned to bob like an apple on the river's surface.

We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.