Quotes About Desolation

I go out there. I'm out there every day. [Pause] There is nothing out there.

Once, I had a dream of fame. Generally, even then, I was lonely.

Beyond the edge of town, past tar-covered poor houses and a low hill bare except for fallen electric poles, was the institution and it sent its delicate and isolated buildings trembling over the gravel and cinder floor of the valley.

Sorrow and desolation have their songs as well as joy and peace. Slaves sing more to make themselves happy than to express their happiness

I'm looking for a path out of the emptiness but all I see is the great wide earth in various formations.

The yawn of the void. A siren call for the unimaginative

There is nothing more you can do to hurt me now. You have already broken the man you knew, crucified every part of my humanity and left me with nothing except the ruins of what I once was. Why do you look away? Have you developed a conscience? What a burden it must be to you.

There's grief and then there's the loneliness of grief. The way it's just yours and yours alone.

Kindness was the last thing she needed. She had to stay in the icy place, the numb place, and their warmth threatened to melt her just when she needed the cold.

Everything here was mean and dirty, the people ate worms.

Vous savez ce que c'est, un grenier? C'est plein de choses qui sont comme mortes : d'anciennes armoires toutes cassées, de mauvais souliers, des corsages qui ont fait leur temps; enfin, des choses qu'on a mis là pour les laisser mourir toutes seules. Quand on les revoit, elles ont l'air de vous le reprocher; c'est toujours un peu triste.

Jeg trekker meg tilbake til en verden der styggheten eksisterer.

Your universe has no meaning to them. They will not try to understand. They will be tired, they will be cold, they will make a fire with your beautiful oak door...

Yes, I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness, sad as an eagle without wings, sad as a violin with only one string and that one broken, sad as a woman who is growing old. Sad, sad, sad...

Castaways on the shores of loneliness

What love had been there was already slipping away. She could still sense it like a ghost in the room, vague and inanimate, but she could no longer feel it. Her affection had gone, leached out, like blood from a cadaver. When he squeezed her fingers, she caught the scent of formaldehyde. When he hooked his sad gaze into hers, she saw the glass of his lenses, spattered with blood.

The absolute absence of him feels like unmitigated terror.

There wasn't a human being for several kilometers around, not a news-stand, not a shop, not a café, not a school. Not a cat, not a skinhead. Nothing.

Once, it was different. Once, people had homes and parents and went to schools. Cities existed within countries and those countries had leaders. Travel could be for adventure or recreation, not survival. But by the time I was grown up, the wider context was a sick joke. Incredible, how a slip could become a freefall and a freefall could become a hell where we lived on as ghosts in a haunted world.

In my absence, the surveyor had become a kind of frenzied serial killer of the inanimate.

Never has a setting been so able to live without the souls traversing it.

I am writing this sitting in the waterlogged lobby of a rotting, half-finished condominium complex. I am surrounded by cavorting freshwater seals and have two pearl-handled revolvers in my lap, a bottle of vodka in my right hand, a human body in the freezer in the kitchens behind me, and a rather large displaced rockhopper penguin staring me in the face.

Next to him lay his violin, trampled, an eerily poignant little corpse.

But now, I no longer pleaded for anything. I was no longer able to lament. On the contrary, I felt very strong. I was the accuser, God the accused. My eyes had opened and I was alone, terribly alone in a world without God, without man. Without love or mercy. I was nothing but ashes now, but I felt myself to be stronger than this Almighty to whom my life had been bound for so long. In the midst of these men assembled for prayer, I felt like an observer, a stranger.