Quotes About Desolation

I lived in a desolate country where there were none to praise and very few to love.

Nothing is more painful to the human mind than after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear.

My warm affections finding no return... were forced to run waste on inanimate objects.

all joy was but a mockery which insulted my desolate state and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for the enjoyment of pleasure.

I cannot believe that I am he whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am quite alone.

After desolation, grief brings back our humanity

I felt so alone on that train... a weird, unnatural kind of alone that bore into me. It was feeling just beyond fear and somewhere to the left of sadness.

Endless white ground below, and swirling flakes, and a lonely whistle of wind, and the shadow of houses.

Left unattended, even for a few days, houses take on a strange feel. The cold accumulates in the corners. The dark settles down and pools on the furniture. Quiet leaks everywhere. The air sours.

Mon coeur est un palais flétri par la cohue...

The houses stood like men in unpressed suits, who had lost the desire to stand straight:

And then they stopped smiling. The corpse they saw in the weeds by the roadside was a rusty cylinder with bits of glass—the remnant of a gas-station pump.

On the hill behind her crows flew one by one into the bare trees, arranging their dark blots in the scrim of branches and adding their warnings to the drear sounds of this day. Gone, gone, they rasped. Here was a dead world learning to speak in dissonant, unbearable sounds.

you've not seen the far end of lonely.

She needs some proof that she isn't the last woman left on earth, the surviving queen of nothing.

as isolated and alone as if I'd been abandoned on the Patagonian ice cap and left to fend for myself.

The owner of a coffee shop sat diminished in the back of his deserted establishment, waiting for patronage that had long since vanished.

The room was large, and largely empty. The pace would pick up later in the evening. For now, the action comprised just a few lonely souls. They seemed lost in the expanse of the room, their play joyless, desultory, as though they'd been looking for a livelier party and found themselves stuck with this one instead.

this library is another desert. A wasteland of words instead of sand.

Having few interests to sustain her, over the next few years she fell into a vacant, mental decline.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

First you fall in love with Antarctica, and then it breaks your heart.

If there is no love more in yonder heart, it is but a corpse unburied.

The wet air was as cold as the ashes of love.