Quotes About Isolation

There's nothing like this in the world,' you say, knowing I cannot touch your hand and look too, into that godless cleft of sky where nothing turns but dead sands flashing. '--And never to quite understand!

Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment.

I lost some of my friends because I got so famous, people who just assumed that I would be different now. I felt like everyone hated me. That is the most unhappy time of my life.

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.

Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?

Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?

Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment.

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning.

Please, people, do not fuck with depression. It's merciless. All it wants is to get you in a room alone and kill you. Take care of yourself.

It is often the case, as I have mentioned before, that isolators unwittingly recreate the struggle of their childhood by marrying fusers, people who have an unsatisfied need for intimacy. This way, they perpetuate the conflict that consumed them as children, not as an idle replay of the past or as a neurotic addiction to pain, but as an unconscious act aimed at the resolution of fundamental human needs.

To the casual observer, it appears that the isolator is a self-sufficient individual with few needs, and the fuser has limitless desires. The fact of the matter is that both individuals have the identical need to be loved and cared for. It's just that one of them happens to be more in touch with those feelings than the other.

The place where optimism most flourishes is the lunatic asylum.

Ordinarily my mom just sunk deeper into her corner of the couch and ignored it. She had succesfully ignored a quarter of a century of entropy and decay, had sat peacefully crunching popcorn and drinking soda while the house fell down around us. If I had to guess the number of books she read during that time, I would place the number at somewhere in the neighborhood of forty thousand.

Sometimes you have to be alone to think, and sometimes the best place for thinking isn't home.

It was tough attempting to be social with people who'd rather pretend you didn't exist.

All this technology for connection and what we really only know more about is how anonymous we are in the grand scheme of things.

She wasn't dead, but she was in hell. Hell on earth.

No, no, no, no, he had to be okay. He had to be out there...going for help, she thought. And then she looked at the thing in her hand at last. She held... A horse. A tiny little black plastic horse.

Face-to-face, real-time connection to others feels fraught and awkward compared to the safe distance of digital communication. We maintain intimate virtual contact with strangers but seem increasingly isolated from our closest friends and family members.

He acts like he doesn't even notice that I should be locked away forever and ever in some bad, drafty place that serves only American cheese.

Was I being groomed for some special mission? What possible purpose could an existence like mine serve? When I wasn't drinking in crappy bars, I was home by myself reading: a life that was achingly lonely, and yet perversely designed to prevent anybody from ever getting close enough to really know me.

Only a man of genius can bare a solitary life.

If you want to get a child to love you, then you should just go hide in the closet for three or for hours. They get down on their knees and pray for you to return. That child will turn you into God. Lonely children probably wrote the Bible.

The woman in red was surrounded by the crowd and she was alone. It was utterly public but intensely private.