Quotes About Solitude

The last stroke of midnight dies. All day in the one chair From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged In rambling talk with an image of air: Vague memories, nothing but memories.

What's left to sigh for, Strange night has come

The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.

triple solitude of age, eccentricity, and deafness

Young Man. Aoife is far away. I am alone. I have come alone in the midst of you To weigh this sword against Cuchullain's sword.

To know the mountain and the valley have grieved May be a quiet thought [...]

Innisfree... I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.

Thank God for books as an alternative to conversation.

No poet or novelist wishes he was the only one who ever lived, but most of them wish they were the only one alive, and quite a number believe their wish has been granted.

To be free is often to be lonely.

For a desert island, one would choose a good dictionary rather than the greatest literary masterpiece imaginable, for, in relation to its readers, a dictionary is absolutely passive and may legitimately be read in an infinite number of ways.

To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock in a pestilential prison with a life-long lock awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big, black block.

I have no way of telling what I miss I am the only one who misses it

I have come back through the years to this stone hollow encrypted in its own stillness I hear it without listening

Trees" I am looking at trees they may be one of the things I will miss most from the earth though many of the ones I have seen already I cannot remember and though I seldom embrace the ones I see and have never been able to speak with one I listen to them tenderly their names have never touched them they have stood round my sleep and when it was forbidden to climb them they have carried me in their branches

The sun sets in the cold without friends Without reproaches after all it has done for us It goes down believing in nothing When it has gone I hear the stream running after it It has brought its flute it is a long way

now there is only the river that was always on its own way

How beautiful you must be to have been able to lead me this far with only the sound of your going away

If I only had the chance, I'd ask one to dance, and I'd be dancing with myself.

If any one hates to be alone with himself, the chances are that he has not much of any self to be alone with.

It's (the lack of communication between the people in his paintings, ed.) probably a reflection of my own, if I may say, loneliness. I don't know. It could be the whole human condition.

I have found it a singular luxury to talk across the pond to a companion on the opposite side.

I'm self-sufficient. I spend a lot of time on my own and I shut off quite easily. When I communicate, I communicate 900 per cent, then I shut off, which scares people sometimes.

Our lack of intimacy is due to our refusal to unplug and shut off communication from all others so we can be alone with Him.