Quotes About Isolation

I've sold my soul for freedom. It's lonely but it's sweet.

I wanted to kill someone and I wanted to die and I wanted to run as far and as fast as I could because she was never coming back. She had fallen off the face of the earth and she was never coming back.

Why is it I can spend a dozen Friday nights staring at the peeling walls of my "room" without anyone in the family so much as poking a head down to see if I'm alive, while the one time I actually have plans (major plans, plans that necessitate extraordinary focus and massive preparation), my stepmother suddenly suggests we sing a duet of "Getting to Know You"?

I was just thoughts, just air. There was nothingness all around me. Was this what it was like to be dead? When you died, did you still sense everything going on around you, only it was happening so far away that you didn't care about it? You were floating through space and time, and nothing that happened to you mattered because nothing really could happen to you because you didn't exist?

And suddenly I started to cry. Serious sobs, the kind where your stomach hurts and you can't breathe and there's snot running down your face. I was crying so hard I couldn't even mute the sounds I was making, and Luke put his hand on my back and I thought about how everyone would think that I was crying because of Stacy's fucking speech and I wanted to kill someone. I wanted to kill someone and I wanted to die and I wanted to run as far and as fast as I could.

Talking won't change it. But sometimes it was what she wanted most, to tell someone; often, though, she just wanted to escape those horrid feelings, to escape herself, so there was no pain, no fear, no ugliness.

Then she was alone- with only a wolf for companionship- waiting to tell the next girl what a folly it was to love him, to trust him.

She couldn't breath around the pain in her chest. "Tell me I'm the only one.

Sometimes she felt invisible.

Dona say no. If you are, do it now and leave me alone. I can't take this, Maggie. You're killing me by small degrees.

Roughly, with every tenfold increase in island size, the number of species you find there doubles.

Potser ens dirà que se li acaba de morir el marit escanyat o que té la lepra. Ja estic fins al capdamunt de les tristeses dels altres... Miri, miri, com s'enrabia... - Qui? - El mar. - Deu estar tip de sentir-nos.

It is true that my shunning was a message from our community to my mother. Her rejection of me was a measure of the humiliation she felt. She believed until her death that I caused her to lose her friends and her stature in the town.

I realized that in order to fully pass this threshold of the self-healing journey after narcissistic abuse, I had to surrender my ego's attachment to the false sense of security that I had created through isolation and not risking my heart in relationships.

I wade through the rush of neglect and loss and sadness pouring through a hole in my hull.

Her life is a wrecked boat torn apart for kindling and set ablaze to send a message to the sky from a deserted beach. From a distance the words spell SAVE ME. The closer the sign the clearer the statement. Turns out it says FUCK YOU.

You are driving me crazy," I wail. "Why don't you care?" The last word—CARE—loses elasticity and flattens into another long wail. I am knees on the floor, shoulders on the floor, forehead on the floor. It is the fetal position. I get caught in a loop of feelings. I get louder and louder. I am groping about for the concept of NEGLECT. She is neglecting me. But I can't find the words. I can't catch my breath.

Lingering is so very lonely when one lingers all alone.

I am the wilderness lost in man.

Oh how I hate people!

Cold love's the loveliest love of all. So clear, so crisp, so empty. In short, so civilized.

He is climbing the spiral staircase of the soul of Gormenghast, bound for some pinnacle of the itching fancy - some wild, invulnerable eyrie best known to himself; where he can watch the world spread out below him, and shake exultantly his clotted wings.

Pretvorio sam se u ?ovjeka koji moli, a to je posljednje bi?e na zemlji. Ispod toga nema ništa.

A cinza resta, inteira, no extremo do cigarro aceso. É como se Bartolomeu Sozinho quisesse recolher, intacto, o tempo já consumido.