Quotes About Isolation

I always had this little terror, this feeling that the whole world was asleep, that around this whole, huge planet, I was the only ne left awake in the world.

I had made a friend. My second one in fourteen years. I was on a roll.

No one ever leaves alive The house at 7 Ocean Drive

all tunnels and bridges out of Manhattan

It's just you, your homework, and the homework room. All. Day. Long. I turned thirteen in that room. Winter ended, and then spring came and went. Wars happened. Trees grew. Babies were born and people died.

Then I stood and dropped the phone. I may have screamed—I can't remember. Vincent lived in a gated mansion on the outskirts of Tampa, maybe an hour away. He would have sent help of his own. Mobsters who'd be pulling up the drive any minute. And they'd find me, the wife of a cop, alone in the house, dripping with Anthony's blood. Anthony, who'd been killed with a kitchen knife. Me, his personal chef.

My father left when I was four and Georgia was two. That was about a year after Leo died. Once he was gone, we never heard from him again. End of story.

The strangest thing is driving on smooth roads. No one passes and nothing moves.

even for a meth addict. She was sleeping

dark roads in the Catskills

No, I called myself a loser," I said, and slammed my door. "Loser.

Most of us tried to keep our problems as private as we could, guarding those scary parts of ourselves like they were a treasure instead of a curse.

it wasn't that the forty-eight-year-old doctor didn't like people; he simply liked being alone better.

and, now, The Perfect Storm, life on The Lost had always been extremely

Mom and Bear got into a big fight that afternoon when she told him what had happened. He kept yelling about how she wasn't "hard enough" on me, and she kept telling him to back off. I just stayed in my room, wishing for it to be over. Finally, Mom said something about how she was late for work, and she slammed the door on her way out.

thick with woods. "Who's

The guy's got a CCI sheet so long it begins with 'Call me Ishmael.

Our generation, unfortunately, is stuck to our phones - and, like, Twitter - constantly, which I have no problem with. I'd say we're not describing the children of America or anything like that, but there is something to take from it: It is kind of sad how we can't go thirty minutes without checking our phone.

Any feeling that I was enriching my mind from those surrounding me was unfortunately rare with me.

I need to be very isolated to write, and unfortunately isolation is often quite difficult to find. My ideal writing environment would be a country house hotel in the middle of nowhere, with full room service.

If the BDS Movement was isolated to a few tenured college outliers, that would be easy enough to handle. Unfortunately, it is not.

All of our unhappiness comes from our inability to be alone.

During the first couple of years at school... I used to take my lunch and go down by the old fair grounds & sit alone by the side of the road & eat it... Those lovely, lonely lunches stick deep in my memory as unhappy times.

The only way to avoid being unhappy is to close yourself up in Art and to count for nothing all the rest.