Quotes About Isolation

I am like the people in the Winslow Homer paintings, sharing the same room with them but not really there. I am like the fish in the aquarium, thinking in a different language, adapting to a life that's not my natural habitat. I am the people in the other cars, each with his or her own story, but passing too quickly to be noticed or understood.

When everybody knows you, it is easy to think that nobody will ever really know you.

I have seen this too many times before. The unwarranted devotion. Putting up with the fear of being with the wrong person because you can't deal with the fear of being alone.

All he feels is the bored emptiness of the flat, flat world. And there's no one who bores him more than himself.

Het is al te gemakkelijk om te zeggen dat ik me onzichtbaar voel. Dat is ook niet waar. Ik voel me pijnlijk zichtbaar en totaal genegeerd.

But once upon a time - that would be our time - a telephone cord seemed like nothing less than a lifeline. It was your attachment to the outside world and, even more than that, your attachment to the people you loved, or wanted to love, or tried to love. Everything about it was fitting - the way it curled in on itself, the way it got so easily tangled, the way you could pull it only so far before it kept you in place. Twisted and knotted and essential.

Love was to blame for this. Because when love ends, the cold is what you're left with. It was all I needed to feel.

That day. Even though my back is turned, I can see what's going on. The sound of their taunting- I know what that looks like. Words like freak and loser- I know what kind of face says them. Our teacher is ignoring it; he does not have the strength to deal with it. Or maybe he agrees with what's being said. He agrees by talking math as the notebook is pulled out of Anton's hand. Even though he sees what's going on, his back is turned.

I'll kill myself. I swear, I'll kill myself, you threatened. We're not going to leave you alone, I said. But we had to, eventually. After all, people are always separable.

My voice is blind, my hearing is mute, my sight is deaf. Art is science, mathematics is conversation, and music is something that bleeds. I am so far away that I am inside myself. I barely notice colors unless I taste them. Not the yellows or the greens. I taste the deeper blues. The darker reds.

I checked my email. this is it this is what it feels like to be helpless.

After all, people are always separable.

I was seventeen, halfway toward eighteen, and I had learned something nobody had ever taught me: Once you get to a certain age, especially if a driver's license is involved, you can go a whole day—a whole week, even—without ever seeing your family. You can maybe say good morning and maybe say good night, but everything in the middle can be left blank.

The proper verb for depression is sink.

No treaty but trenches all quiet years to years home in no man's land.

It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored. People talk to her, but it feels like they are outside a house, talking through the walls.

Why is it so much easier to talk to a stranger? Why do we feel we need that disconnect in order to connect?

Why is it so much easier to talk to a stranger. Why do we feel we need that disconnect to connect?

You don't feel like a stranger to me. I wanted to ask her, What does a stranger feel like? Not to be snarky or sarcastic. Because I really wanted to know if there was a difference, if there was a way to become truly knowable, if there wasn't always something keeping you a stranger, even to the people you weren't strange to at all.

Here's the thing—even if it was just sex, even if he didn't say "I love you," even if I knew it wouldn't last, you have to understand that I would have been alone without him. I would have been so alone.

This is the problem with having a barrier between you and everyone else--you see it, but they don't. They talk to you, but you can't talk back to them.

It would be too easy to say that i feel invisible. Instead, i feel painfully visible, and enterily ignored.

My eyes are open and I'm not seeing a thing because I am so lost inside.

Maybe this is what alone really is—finding out how tiny your world is, and not knowing how to get anywhere else. I