Quotes About Isolation

at a life stage when everyone else is moving forward; the thirties are a decade of building the foundation of the future. He's out of sync with his peers, and in his own way, in his own grief, he probably feels completely alone.

Of course, anger serves another function—it pushes people away and keeps them from getting close enough to see you. I wonder if John needs people to be angry at him so that they won't see his sadness.

hadn't considered that if the only thing that keeps you going all day is knowing you'll get to turn on the TV after dinner, you probably are depressed.

Suicides do not end their lives because they are weak, mentally ill, or depressed - though certainly they may be all those things. They are in blinding, all-consuming psychic pain, and perhaps on that final poisonous day they can find no reason not to.

At the most elementary level of information processing, stimulation is energy, and my brain needed to be protected, and isolated from obnoxious sensory stimulation, which it perceived as noise.

Grief doesn't feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under her. There is no rug. There is no floor on which to lay a rug. There is no ground on which to build a floor to lay a rug.

What good was beauty with no one to share it? Alone, beauty was almost cruel.

It's miserable to feel unwanted for reasons beyond your control.

Ellie closed her eyes and felt the aching loneliness well up inside her chest.

I don't get attached… There's no place for it in my world.

I have nightmares about hell, where all I do is add up numbers and try to have conversations with people like you.

The married thing. Sometimes I look at it and feel like someone from a Dickens novel, standing outside in the cold and staring in at Christmas dinner. Relationships hadn't ever really worked for me. I think it's had something to do with all the demons, ghosts, and human sacrifice.

Alone. It's one of those small words that means entirely too much. Like fear. Or trust.

Fear is a prison. But when you combine it with secrets, it becomes especially toxic, vicious. It puts us all into solitary, unable to hear one another clearly.

I hate feeling like Han Solo in a world of Jedi.

There was a ticking time bomb inside my head and the one person I trusted to go in and get it out hadn't shown up or spoken to me for more than a year.

I snorted. "They still make you read Dickens in school? Great Expectations?" "Yeah." "You can stay at home and hide if you want—and wind up like Miss Havisham," I said. "Watching life through a window and obsessed with how things might have been." "Dear God," she said. "You've just made Dickens relevant to my life." "Weird, right?" I asked her, nodding.

The Winter inside me was torment and agony—but at least when I was immersed in it, I couldn't feel.

More than anything, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. I wanted to be not.

Now that I've got this to keep me safe off the island," I said very quietly, "what's to stop me from having Alfred drop you into a cell right this second, and solving my problems myself?" "I am," Mab said. She gave me a very small, very chill smile, and held up her finger. There was a tiny droplet of my blood upon it, scarlet against her pale skin.

That's the thing about living behind all that security: If it can keep threats out, it can just as easily keep you in.

The married thing. Sometimes I look at it and feel like someone from a Dickens novel, standing outside in the cold and staring in at Christmas dinner. Relationships hadn't ever really worked for me. I think it's had something to do with all the demons, ghosts, and human sacrifice.

Abusers like to isolate their victims. People who feel that they are completely alone tend not to fight back.

And as I looked at him, I suddenly felt, for the very first time in my life, utterly, entirely alone. That something was gone that would never return, that a little hole had been hollowed out inside of me that wasn't ever going to be filled again.