Quotes About Isolation

Perhaps it is impossible to understand one's own face. Or perhaps it is because I am a single man? People who live in society have learned how to see themselves in mirrors as they appear to their friends. I have no friends. Is that why my flesh is so naked? You might say--yes, you might say, nature without humanity.

His blue cotton shirt stands out joyfully against a chocolate-coloured wall. That too brings on the Nausea. The Nausea is not inside me: I feel it OUT THERE in the wall, in the suspenders, everywhere around me. It makes itself one with the café, I am the one who is within IT.

Nu-mi simt trupul, m-a cucerit puritatea lucrurilor care m? înconjoar?; nimic nu e viu; vântul sufl?, linii drepte alearg? în noapte.

To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out - but you can't prevent your being there.

I've dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest.

S pogledom objamem prostor in prevzame me strašen stud. Kaj delam tu? Zakaj sem se spustil v to prerekanje o humanizmu? Zakaj so ti ljudje tu? Zakaj jedo? Res je, ne vedo, da bivajo. Želim si oditi, želim iti nekam, kjer bi bil zares na svojem mestu, kjer bi se lahko nekam uvrstil. Mojega mesta pa ni nikjer; odve? sem

Neither sad nor gay is the desert—a boundless waste of sand under a burning waste of sky.

Cand albii vorbesc intre ei fara sa se cunoasca, inseamna ca pe un negru il pandeste moartea.

I was neither a grandfather, nor a father, nor even a husband. I didn't vote, I scarcely paid any taxes; I couldn't lay claim to the rights of a tax-payer, nor to those of an elector, nor even to the humble right to honour which twenty years of obedience confer on an employee. My existence was beginning to cause me serious concern. Was I a mere figment of the imagination?

I am alone now. Not quite alone. Hovering in front of me is still this idea. It has rolled itself into a ball, it stays there like a large cat; it explains nothing, it does not move, and contents itself with saying no.

I marvel at these young people: drinking their coffee, they tell clear, plausible stories. If they are asked what they did yesterday, they aren't embarrassed: they bring you up to date in a few words. If I were in their place, I'd fall over myself. It's true that no one has bothered about how I spend my time for a long while. When you live alone you no longer know what it is to tell something: the plausible disappears at the same time as the friends.

But time is too large, it can't be filled up. Everything you plunge into it is stretched and disintegrates. That gesture, for instance, the red hand picking up the cards and fumbling: it is all flabby. It would have to be ripped apart and tailored inside.

Todavía no estoy en el infierno y ya tengo mis pequeñas costumbres de condenado.

Si vous êtes solitaire, quand vous êtes seul, vous êtes en mauvaise compagnie.

Usted podrá juzgarlo, señor. Antes de tomar esa decisión me sentía tan espantosamente solo que pensé en el suicidio. Lo que me contuvo fue la idea de que nadie, absolutamente nadie se conmovería con mi muerte, que estaría aún más solo en la muerte que en la vida.

I want to leave, go to some place where I will be really in my own niche, where I will fit in. . . . But my place is nowhere; I am unwanted, de trop. The

To succeed as a lawyer, a man must work like a horse and live like a hermit.

Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world

If I was alone I could live so easy. I could go get a job an' work, an' no trouble.

A writer never reads his work. For him, it is the unreadable, a secret, and he cannot remain face to face with it. A secret, because he is separated from it.

Maybe if everyone walked around being in touch with each other's hidden pain it could work out and even be beautiful, but it doesn't feel safe to be the only compassionate person on the planet.

Spacemen - men who work in space, pilots and jetmen and astrogators and such - are men who like a few million miles of elbow room.

The sociability of artists is a paradoxical and precarious thing, and ceases the instant they begin their actual artistic work.

Blogging is like work, but without coworkers thwarting you at every turn.