Quotes About Isolation

A man who wants to die feels angry and full of life and desperate and bored and exhausted, all at the same time; he wants to fight everyone, and he wants to curl up in a ball and hide in a cupboard somewhere. He wants to say sorry to everyone, and he wants everyone to know just how badly they've all let him down.

The key incident for me was that I never had any friends. And I realized that in order to have friends and impress people, I had to do something extraordinary.

Boys, almost all boys, too fat or awkward or arrogant for sports, and not actually bright enough to achieve top marks, find their ways to the darkest corners and dustiest shelves, and there Lovecraft is waiting.

I wanted to be alone, not forgotten.

nothing could be more pleasant than to live in solitude, enjoy the spectacle of nature, and occasionally read some book...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No furniture, no light fittings, no carpet, no bodies. Not a single body. Nothing but the million ducks, the three million ducklings and a window.

Cell 14-D, in the infamous Hole, is said to be always colder than the other D Block cells, even when the weather is warm. Stories have been told of a prisoner locked in 14-D who screamed all night long. He said that a creature with glowing red eyes was trying to kill him. The next morning, he was found dead.

That's what I wanted from the world, to feel nothing. To feel nothing and not be involved, for everything to stay comfortably outside myself and not get in. How did people survive all this knowledge of suffering in the world? How did they carry it around, day after day, and not go mad?

The world lit up like a silent photograph, flat and grainy, limning the tree stark as a charcoal slash against a parchment sky. Lightning exploded like bluewhite cats-o'-nine-tails until sound rolled and cracked and splintered and Marghe could no longer tell if it was the ground shaking or her muscles; she felt deaf and blind and exposed to her core.

I stood there for a long time after he bumped his way over the turf and down the track, until the smell of his exhaust had faded into the trees and soil, and I could hear nothing but the buds. The air smelled like rain.

Hild looked at the hot spark and flicker of her carnelians and pretended they were coals. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been warm. Couldn't even remember when she'd eaten something hot.

I touched my reflection with a fingertip. My reflection felt nothing. That's what I wanted from the world, to feel nothing. To feel nothing and not be involved, for everything to stay comfortably outside myself and not get in. How did people survive all this knowledge of suffering in the world? How did they carry it around, day after day, and not go mad? And what would I wear tomorrow?

The dark was many things: the cold, the alien world, the virus, her own fear.

It was snowing. Her suit warmed rapidly, and the starvision visor turned the world smoky gray, ethereal, with the snow drifting down in black flakes. The grass was frozen, but she could not hear the crunch of her footsteps: all sound, all vision, all sensation was filtered by her suit. She was isolated from the world, just as though this were one of her first virtual-reality training missions as a cadet.

The tribe, the tribe, nothing but the tribe. It was all she knew. I just didn't matter to her, in the end. I belonged to the tribe, I was subhuman, won though everything in her heart told her otherwise. How can people do that?" "Perhaps she did what she could to help." "She was my jailer." "She taught you to survive.

Here she was Stranger Woman, or the SEC rep. Not Marguerite Angelica Taishan, not Marghe. She wondered if that person existed anymore.

She was glad to be alone, to be free, to be high above the world, where she could see everything coming. She had people to protect.

How long had it been since the child laughed and played with others her age?

Watching in dumb show and from a distance made the whole thing look like some strange strange puppet performance, utterly divorced from me and my life.

Under the ferocity Fursey heard the howling loneliness. But ferocity was winning.

Angst was for the dark.

It was a good place, a fine place, it should have been her place to belong. Only it was not; Arturus did not want her.

In this light, her hair was the colr of sandstone. She was sandstone: a spire of rock rising from an otherwise featureless desert. No toeholds.

They both smiled, and Peretur felt a little less lonely, a little less lost.