Quotes About Solitude

No one knows what it is to lie here alone day after day, in silence and darkness, without hearing a voice or seeing a ray of light. Sad thoughts come over me, and I do not feel sometimes as if I could bear it any longer or as if it could ever be light again.

It is good to be on the mountain; body and soul get well there, and life becomes happy again.

A writer had to stand the silences that came with being alone[…]. You could think when you were alone, and writers needed to think.

After she had spoken she looked out the window once more. Darkness had fallen and she could see only her own reflection in the glass. The intruder had gone, though she had scarcely noticed him slip away. She looked at herself in the window. Soon there would be no reflection of her anywhere at all.

He looked up at the great grey peaks, some still topped by the remnants of the winter snow. He felt as close to happy as he ever got, the fittest he had been for a long time. His mind clear. Being in the mountains made him happy. He loved mountains. They were so much less trouble than people.

Pulling down his hat he lingered on the street corner, melting back against a grimy wall of London brick.

This is the mortal world. It is a world where nothing is lost, where all is accounted for while yet the mystery of things is preserved; a world where they may live, however briefly, however tenuously, in the failing evening of the self, solitary and at the same time together somehow here in this place, dying as they may be and yet fixed forever in a luminous, unending instant.

I had never liked, even feared a little, this wild reach of marsh and mud flats where everything seemed turned away from the land, looking off desperately toward the horizon as if in mute search for a sign of rescue.

The glimmering landscape materialized slowly before him. Such stillness. He might have been the last man in the world.

He had a habit also, when being spoken to, no matter how earnestly, of turning very slowly on his heel and limping a little way away, head bowed, and then stopping to stand with his back turned and hands clasped behind him, so that one could not be sure that he was still listening to what one was saying, or had sunk into altogether more profound communings with himself.

To, ?e tu jestem, wynika po prostu z potrzeby, ?eby nigdzie nie by?.

I have achieved nothing, nothing. I am what I always was, alone as always, locked in the same old glass prison of myself.

Savannah was invariably gracious to strangers, but it was immune to their charms. It wanted nothing so much as to be left alone.

It's enough to make me laugh. I close the door behind me and sit down again, considering this, and truly, I find it so funny that I laugh until I cry. And when the tears come I think aah... So this is what it means to be alone.

Other things are probably better off left alone. Like a dead mouse at the back of a cupboard.

When he closed his eyes, everything around him just felt empty and cold, as if he was in the loneliest place in the world. The middle of nowhere.

I stood up and offered not a prayer, for that was of no use to anyone, but a moment of contemplation.

sometimes feel as if I wasn't supposed to live among people at all. As if I would be happier on a little island somewhere, all alone with my books and some writing material for company.

leaving me an orphan like those characters I had spoken of the night before, if one can truly be called an orphan at twenty-one years of age.

After all, the clamour of the crowded public house is infinitely more welcoming than the stillness of the empty home.

I sometimes feel as if I wasn't supposed to live among people at all. As if I would be happier on a little island somewhere, all alone with my books and some writing material for company. I could grow my own food and never have to speak to a soul.

Cuando cerraba los ojos, sólo notaba vacío y frío alrededor, como si se hallara en el lugar más solitario del planeta. Era como el fondo de la nada.

Wasn't it lonely? Your life, I mean." "Yes." "You're alone?" "Yes." "You live alone?" "I am entirely alone, Marian," I repeated quietly.

I would have dearly liked to close the French doors between us for a bit of peace, but Mam wouldn't allow it; she said that solitude would give me ideas and the last thing a boy of my age needed was ideas.