Quotes About Solitude

And then when all around grows dark, when we feel utterly alone, when all men right and left pass us by and know us not, a forgotten feeling rises in the breast.

New scientific ideas never spring from a communal body, however organized, but rather from the head of an individually inspired researcher who struggles with his problems in lonely thought and unites all his thought on one single point which is his whole world for the moment.

We do not aspire to communal life but to a life apart.

If you make friends with yourself, you'll never be alone.

Set aside a period of 30 minutes each day when you can be alone and undisturbed. Relax and make yourself as comfortable as possible. Now close your eyes and exercise your imagination.

In the country of pain we are each alone.

Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self.

There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even with one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center. I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over my encounter, and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it.

I can tell you that solitude Is not all exaltation, inner space Where the soul breathes and work can be done. Solitude exposes the nerve, Raises up ghosts. The past, never at rest, flows through it.

Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, family, employers, and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence. Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us.

Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.

In which they are alone now and there doesn't seem to be anyone around. Sometime

Usamljen me?u grobovima, zaboravio sam na mržnju. Vratila mi se kad sam prišao ljudima.

Opet sam sam. Možda je i najbolje tako, ne o?ekuješ pomo? i ne bojiš se izdaje. Sam. U?init ?u sve što mogu, ne uzdaju?i se u podršku koje nema, i onda je moje sve što postignem, i zlo i dobro.

Usamljenost ra?a misao, misao nezadovoljstvo, nezadovoljstvo pobunu. Ja sam bio daleko od misli na pobunu: samo sam lijeno sanjario.

Pusto mi je u duši. Prazno mi je srce.

Želim da me zvižduk vjetra zagluši, da zasvira kroz mene kao kroz trsku, mislim, kako bi bilo lijepo ne misliti, mislim: kako bi lijepo bilo na?i se sad na rijeci, šiban olujom, u ribarskoj barci ili u štrkljastoj drvenoj ku?ici na obali rijeke, okružen divljom stihijom, sam s njom, bez tuge u sebi i oko sebe. Ali to je samo trenutna želja, davnašnja potreba za bijegom i za odvajanjem od tereta u sebi, neostvariva ?ežnja za tišinama.

Opasno je kad se ?ovjek na?e sâm, okružen tišinom tu?eg neprisustva, više je strahova i ?udnih razgovora sa sobom. Samo, kako da ti to sve kažem? I kako da objasnim sebi, tebe se to ne ti?e, što nekad teško podnosim ovu usamljenost, a nekad mi je draža od svega, ne bih je dao nizašto.

Opet sam sam. Možda je i najbolje tako, ne o?ekuješ pomo? i ne bojiš se izdaje. Sam. U?ini?u sve što mogu, ne uzdaju?i se u podršku koje nema, i onda je moje sve što postignem, i zlo i dobro.

Svijet ne spava, svijet nikada sav ne spava, ?ini mi se da nisam sam.

Pravi muškarac je kao vuk. Ili je samotnjak ili je ve?no sa jednom vu?icom. Jurnjavu za ovcama ionako obavlja ovan.

?utala je, pribijena uz mene, kao da traži zaštitu. Preboljevala je što su je njeni napustili. Navikavala se na mene. Sad nikoga nemamo, ni ona ni ja, ho?emo li biti dovoljni jedno drugome?

But more and more often I caught myself feeling comfortable in the warmth of the sun, with my readings, with the reflections in the water. Life became ordinary, even beautiful, tranquil. It seemed that I really was forgetting; a quiet reigned within me. But then, unexpectedly, for no apparent reason, unaccompanied by any thoughts that might have summoned it, a fiery stab would pierce through me, like a hidden, torturous pain, like a cramp.

This solitude hurt pleasantly; it made me sorry, but I would not have traded it for anything. The ground smelled of the warm moisture of spring. Turtledoves landed in the poplars, pigeons were bathing in the shallow water, ruffling their feathers, splashing red and green droplets all around. A cowbell rang sluggishly somewhere in the distance. A familiar place, familiar colours, familiar sounds. I looked around: it was mine. I smelled the air: it was mine. I listened: it was mine.