Quotes About Solitude

I was looking for a quiet place to die. Someone recommended Brooklyn

Perhaps when we shrink down to almost nothing, we will at last find one another. Life is, after all, very difficult. Most of us die here simply because we forget to breathe.

Significa que no puedes vivir sin los demás -dije-. Cuando están ahí en carne y hueso, el mundo real es suficiente. Cuando estás solo, tienes que inventarte personajes, los necesitas para que te hagan compañia.

On his best walks, he was able to feel that he was nowhere. And this, finally, was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere.

For it is only in the darkness of solitude that the work of memory begins.

Toen hij de kluizenaar in de zachte aarde naast het beekje begroef, besefte hij dat alles mogelijk zou zijn voor hem op deze plek. Hij had voedsel en water; hij had een huis; hij had een nieuwe identiteit voor zichzelf gevonden, een nieuw en totaal onverwacht leven. Hij kon de ommekeer bijna niet vatten. Nog geen uur geleden had hij willen sterven. Nu beefde hij van geluk, niet in staat te stoppen met lachen toen hij de ene schop na de andere op het gezicht van de dode man wierp.

Impossible, I realize, to enter another's solitude. If it is true that we can ever come to know another human being, even to a small degree, it is only to the extent that he is willing to make himself known.

Estaba buscando un sitio tranquilo para morir

All the happiness of man stems from one thing only: that he is incapable of staying quietly in his room.

Literature is essentially loneliness. It is written in solitude, it is read in solitude and, in spite of everything, the act of reading allows a communication between two human beings.

He wondered why he turned so sentimental. That's what happened when you have no one to talk to.

who seeks solitude seeks silence; who does not speak is alone; is alone, even unto death

Desde então, sob o sol radioso, sob a tempestade, ao crepúsculo, sentimos amargamente a sua falta

For one whole year he did nothing but drive, traveling back and forth across America as he waited for the money to run out.

Me gustó esta y quisiera compartirla. "la literatura es esencialmente soledad. Se escribe en soledad, se lee en soledad y, pese a todo, el acto de la lectura permite una comunicación entre dos seres humanos

Every morning he would go to sleep telling himself that he had had enough, that there would be no more of it, and every afternoon he would wake up with the same desire, the same irresistible urge to crawl back into the car. He wanted that solitude again, that nightlong rush through the emptiness, that rumbling of the road along his skin.

Whenever his eye or mind seems to stop, he discovers another connection, another bridge to carry him to yet another place, and even in the solitude of his room, the world has been rushing in on him at a dizzying speed, as if it were all suddenly converging in him and happening to hm at once.

I gave up trying to be anyone," he said. "The object of my life was to remove myself from my surroundings, to live in a place where nothing could hurt me anymore. One by one, I tried to abandon my attachments, to let go of all the things I ever cared about. The idea was to achieve indifference, an indifference so powerful and sublime that it would protect me from further assault.

La literatura es esencialmente soledad. Se escribe en soledad, se lee en soledad y, pese a todo, el acto de la lectura permite una comunicación entre dos seres humanos".

Bibliotheken befinden sich schließlich außerhalb der realen Welt. Es sind abgeschiedene Orte, Zufluchtsstätten des reinen Denkens. Auf diese Weise kann ich für den Rest meines Lebens auf dem Mond weiterleben.

You know now how deeply unhappy your mother was, and you also know that in his own fumbling way your father loved her, that is, to the extent he was capable of loving anyone, but they made a botch of it, and to be a part of that disaster when you were a boy no doubt drove you inward, turning you into a man who has spent the better part of his life sitting alone in a room.

Your dad used to think I was bipolar, but what I really am is by myself.

There's a certain quixotic calm to an empty school hallway.

There is a way to master silence Control its curves, inhabit its dark corners And listen to the hiss of time outside