Quotes About Solitude

Solitude never hurt anyone. Emily Dickinson lived alone, and she wrote some of the most beautiful poetry the world has ever known... then went crazy as a loon.

Solitude never hurt anyone. Emily Dickinson lived alone, and she wrote some of the most beautiful poetry the world has ever known... then went crazy as a loon." Lisa Simpson

One cliché attached to bookish people is that they are lonely, but for me books were my way out of being lonely. If you are the type of person who thinks too much about stuff then there is nothing lonelier in the world than being surrounded by a load of people on a different wavelength.

The weirdest thing about a mind is that you can have the most intense things going on in there but no one else can see them. The world shrugs.

Yes, there had been a void inside me, but voids were underrated. Voids were empty of love but also pain. Emptiness was not without its advantages. You could move around in emptiness.

I did not know how to be me, my strange and unusual self, without her. I had tried it, of course. I had existed whole years without her, but that was all it had been. An existence. A book with no words.

One cliche attached to bookish people is that they are lonely, but for me books were my way out of being lonely.

People are craving not just physical space but the space to be mentally free. A space from unwanted distracted thoughts that clutter our heads like pop-up advertising of the mind in an already frantic world. And that space is still there to be found. It's just that we can't rely on it. We have to consciously seek it out.

meet with a success unexpected in common hours.' He'd also observed that part of this success was the product of being alone. 'I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.

M-am imbarbatat gandindu-ma la cateva numere prime aleatorii. Fiecare dintre ele este precum iubirea, de neimpartit, decat cu unu si cu sine insusi.

In a familiar place, your mind focuses solely on itself.

We're the only two people here!' 'That's not the point. It is still a library. If you are in a cathedral, you are quiet because you are in a cathedral, not because other people are there. It's the same with a library.

And Nora felt similarly, in that moment. Although she had only been left alone for an hour at this point, she had never experienced this level of solitude before, amid such unpopulated nature.

The weirdest thing about a mind is that you can have the most intense things going on in there but no one else can see them. The world shrugs. Your pupils might dilate. You may sound incoherent. Your skin might shine with sweat. And there was no way anyone seeing me in that villa could have known what I was feeling, no way they could have appreciated the strange hell I was living through, or why death seemed such a phenomenally good idea.

But amid pure nature (or the 'tonic of wildness' as Thoreau called it) solitude took on a different character. It became in itself a kind of connection. A connection between herself and the world. And between her and herself.

WE ARE ESSENTIALLY alone.

Edith Wharton was the wisest person ever on lineliness. She believed the cure for it wasn't always to have company, but to find a way to be happy with your owwn company.

Ik heb nooit een gezelliger kameraad gevonden dan de eenzaamheid. (Thoreau)

Me sentaba a la luz de la mesita de noche para leer durante unas dos horas después de que Andrea se hubiera dormido, hasta que los ojos se me secaban y dolían, siempre buscando y sin encontrar nunca nada, pero con esa sensación de tenerlo casi al alcance de la mano.

It was one of the reasons why I preferred the library to the playing field. It

Za ljudi, ko radi berejo, velja, da naj bi bili osamljeni, meni pa so knjige pomenile pot iz osamljenosti. ?e si takšne vrste, da preve? razmišljaš o stvareh, ni ni?esar samotnejšega, kakor ?e si obkrožen z množico ljudi na drugi valovni dolžini.

If one advances confidently, Thoreau had written in Walden, in the direction of his dreams, and endeavours to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He'd also observed that part of this success was the product of being alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.

Henry David Thoreau's Walden, both

Pain, of any kind, is a very isolating experience.