Quotes About Isolation

I come from a plane that fell into the mountains. I am Uruguayan. We have been walking for ten days. I have a friend up here who is injured. In the plane there is fourteen injured people. We have to get of here quickly and we don't have any food. We are weak. When are you going to come and fetch us? Please. We can't even walk. Where are we?

I was born in a town that was straight out of a fairy tale. Many people died there, and when I walked away, I held hands with my other self. To me it seemed like we were the only two people in the world. Neither one of us possessed a real name.

I was born in a town that was straight out of a fairy tale. Many people died there, and when I walked away, I held hands with my other self. To me it seemed like we were the only two people in the world. Neither one of us possessed a real name. -Johan Liebert

Anche se finalmente aveva trovato un nome, non era rimasto più nessuno che potesse chiamarlo in quel modo. Eppure Johan era un così bel nome.

You're so unfair, Michiru…To leave into your own world…Don't leave me alone…-Haruka Tenoh/Sailor Uranus

He's crying a little now, from the shock and the shame and the fear and the humiliation and the pain. Tunde recognizes those feelings; he's known them since the first day Enuma touched him. He has written in the scribbled notes for his book: "At first we did not speak our hurt because it was not manly. Now we do not speak it because we are afraid and ashamed and alone without hope, each of us alone. It is hard to know when the first became the second.

I began to appreciate what money can provide: a waterproof imperviousness to the demands of others.

Al principio no expresábamos nuestro dolor porque no era viril. Ahora no hablamos de ello porque nos da miedo, sentimos vergüenza y estamos solos sin esperanza, cada uno de nosotros solo.

He could not hope to discover, let alone understand, what thoughts moved her as she sat holding his hand to her cheek. He was alone, in the smallness of the room, in the space within him. And yet they were both together, alone. He understood, as if the knowledge had been waiting for him in this windowless chamber. That was, at bottom, what it amounted to. To be alone, together.

This, without a doubt, is neoliberalism's single most damaging legacy: the realization of its bleak vision has isolated us enough from one another that it became possible to convince us that we are not just incapable of self-preservation but fundamentally not worth saving.

There is an old joke: A physicist, an engineer, and an economist are stranded on a desert island with nothing but canned food. The physicist proposes to make a fire and heat the can until it bursts. The engineer proposes to climb to a local ridge and drop the can, which will burst on landing. The economist says: "Assume a can opener.

The dates arranged necessitated expensive cross-country plane trips, a situation that understandably left most of them languishing in solitary gloom on Saturday nights.

You taught me to care when I asked someone, 'How are you?,' to listen to the answer. You taught me that the people who don't ask, who don't speak, who are sitting alone on the sidelines, they are the people we need to sit down next to, not the ones who crowd around us.

Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words and not one of them can save me.

Whatever shall we do in that remote spot? Well, we will write our memoirs. Work is the scythe of time.

Having soon discovered to be great, I must appear so, and therefore studiously avoided mixing in society, and wrapped myself in mystery, devoting my time to fasting and prayer.

Every day silence harvests its victims. Silence is a mortal illness.

La quotidiana solitudine è l'unico mezzo che noi abbiamo di partecipare alla vita del prossimo, perduto e stretto in una solitudine uguale.

Well, thought Winnie, crossing her arms on the windowsill, she was different. Things had happened to her that were hers alone, and had nothing to do with them. It was the first time. And no amount of telling about it could help them understand or share what she felt. It was satisfying and lonely, both at once.

Reach out of the deep chasm of your loneliness and express yourself to another human being.

Writing can be very lonely. Who's going to read it, who cares about it?

Being an artist in our society makes us lonely. Everyone else leaves in the morning for work and structured jobs. Artists live outside that built in social system.

My desolation was that no one knew me and I did not know myself. My family's life was my life. I knew nothing else. I was clothed, fed, given a bed to sleep in, encouraged to marry early and rich, and loved in a generic way -- I was "the big one," which meant the older and my sister was the 'little one" --but no one spoke to me, no one explained anything.

Anything we fully do is an alone journey.