Quotes About Isolation

And then we heard the train from a long ways off. It was how sound traveled her, where sometimes a sound from miles away seemed close at hand, and at other times a person in the same room sounded far away, distant and remote.

numbness between

Je me crois un écrivain dans sa tour d'ivoire, je ne suis qu'un minus habens perché sur son nuage.

Notre planète étant, selon la définition de Stevenson, une île tournoyante chargée de vie rapace, plus ruisselante de sang qu'un navire au lendemain d'une mutinerie, Hanokh Levin sonde les pulsions mortifères, descend dans le sous-sol humain où grouille un monde de lâcheté et de bassesse, tire des choses vues un constat sur le non-sens de nos existences, engluées dans de risibles ambitions. (p. 117)

But once you accept the fact that you have always been alone, and will always be, then your perspective can begin to change. You can become aware of the small kindnesses, the little comforts. Be grateful for them.

I think that if we can find the words, and if we can find someone to tell them to, then perhaps we can see things differently. But I had no words, and I had nobody. - 153

My aloneness had never bothered me; I hadn't even been aware of it. But now it overwhelmed me. The awareness washed over me with painful sharpness and deep grief. Now that I had company.

When the sun dipped behind the wall of trees, we lay down and the white night swallowed us. It has been night ever since.

Despite the enormous evening sky spreading over most of the canvas, its moon no more than a tarnished coin, dull and flat, in a devalued currency; despite the trees, so dark themselves, stretching upward like supplicants, utterly leafless; despite what could be a face, rinsed of feeling, aimed in their direction, the two small figures at the bottom of this picture glow bravely in their carnival clothes, as if the whole darkening world were dimming its lights for a party.

Corporate prayer transformed Karla's small, cold isolation cell into a holy room where God's child enjoyed solitude with her Creator.

Possibly from the outside this looks determinedly individual. Nobody realises what a mess of loneliness and inadequacy I am inside.

Sometimes you run away by yourself purely so someone who cares will come to find you. Half the time nobody does. That's the tragedy of life.

Memories consume Like opening the wound I'm picking me apart again You all assume I'm safe here in my room Unless I try to start again.

Don't want to reach for me, do you? I mean nothing to you, the little things give you away

Clutching my cure I tightly lock the door I try to catch my breath again I hurt much more Than anytime before I had no options left again

His social life, which should have been expanding, narrowed to a circle that was no larger than his mind, an imagined world in which his friends were phantoms, his lovers mere lumps of unmoving flesh.

It's an apathy so absolute that it's like a hole you might fall in.

Because when you get sick, I think that's the hardest part: living in a separate universe from everyone else, like having been exiled to a foreign country.

Home is precisely what Kevin has taken from me.

unto me a son was born, and I felt nothing.

Likewise the innards of my sole telephone socket are disgorged; my uncertain connection to the outside world dangles by two poorly soldered wires, and it often cuts off.

How much kinder it would have been, to turn off, like an appliance. The gradual, drawn-out corruption of the body while its host was still trapped inside was a torture of a sort they would have contrived at Guantanamo, or Bergen-Belsen. Every old age was an Edgar Allan Poe story.

St. Brigid's Island perched like a jagged accident above the water, all grass and rock, no beach to ease the passage of a boat, no harbor to shelter it once there. Twelve miles west of Ireland, at times nearly impossible to get to and just as deadly to try to leave. It was the whim of the wind and the swelling sea that determined who landed there and who was let go.

It's important to remember that teenagers form tribes with the express purpose of creating a group that doesn't include adults, so going outside of their group to get help from an adult—even for life-threatening behavior—can feel like a huge betrayal.