Quotes About Isolation

Spending so much time alone had turned Chloe's imagination into a deep dark forest. It was a magical place to escape to, and so much more thrilling than real life.

He seemed lonely too, not just alone, but lonely in his soul. That made Chloe sad. She knew full well what it was like to feel lonely. Chloe didn't like school very much. Mother had insisted on sending her to a posh all-girls secondary school, and she hadn't made any friends there. Chloe didn't like being at home much either. Wherever she was she had the feeling that she didn't quite fit in.

As Twilight Towers was set on the edge of the moors, streetlamps were few and far between.

Zoe also knew her stepmother did not love her. Or even like her very much. In truth, Zoe was pretty sure her stepmother hated her. Sheila treated her at worst as an irritant, at best as if she were invisible.

The boy would be lavished with presents upon arrival – a new train set, a model plane or a knight's suit of armour. But with nobody to play with Tom would get bored quickly. All he really wanted was to spend time with Mum and Dad, but time was the one thing they never ever gave him. "No. Mother and Father are abroad,

nashin awa wi their een watterin. But naebody wis aw that freendly tae him. Naebody stapped for a blether.

My pleasure. Listen," he called after her, "this is as far as I can go. They poisoned the water out there and I can't follow you now. If you do see Powell, will you give him a message for me?" "Sure," she said, turning around. "Tell him I have his boots in my truck. In case he's looking for 'em." Chey smiled. It felt wrong on her face, but she liked it all the same. "I'll do that.

Soon they would spend all day there, locked up inside the truck, reading undisturbed. There were no windows but there were thousands of windows, in every book on every shelf.

In real pain we have no other choice but to learn to ask for help and on a daily basis. Pain tells us we belong and cannot live forever alone or in isolation. Pain makes us understand reciprocation.

To be alone for any length of time is to shed an outer skin. The body is inhabited in a different way when we are alone than when we are with others. Alone, we live in our bodies as a question rather than a statement.

I lean back and tilt my head so all I see are the clouds in the sky. I'm looking back inside my head with my eyes wide open. I still don't know where I'm going; I decided I'm not crazy or alien. It's just that I'm more like one of those kids they find in remote jungles or forests []. A wolf child. And they've dragged me into this fucking schizo-culture, snarling and spitting and walking around on curled knuckles.

Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am. I've gone empty, completely empty and all they see is the visual form: my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat. But I'm fucking empty. The person I was just one year ago no longer exists, drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there.

I wanted to be physically erased and start over again. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be there. I guess I wanted to be nowhere, I wanted to listen to my brain talk inside of nothingness. I wanted to be untouchable and have no need.

Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am. I've gone empty, completely empty and all they see is the visual form; my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat.

The English language needs a word for that feeling you get when you badly need help, but there is no one you can call because you're not popular enough to have friends, not rich enough to have employees, and not powerful enough to have lackeys. It is a very distinct cocktail of impotence, loneliness and a sudden stark assessment of your non-worth to society? Enturdment?

I stopped at a red light, feeling foolish as always for stopping at an intersection at an hour when the streets are deserted, just because a colored lightbulb told me to. Society has got me so fucking trained. I rubbed my eyes and groaned and felt utterly alone in the world.

I wanted to curl up into a fetal position and start sucking my thumb, let my tears and dripping saliva pool under me. Sorry. I tried living, tried being sentient. Can't do it. Can't live in the same universe with that.

And no one cares. You kick and scream and cry out into the darkness, and no answer comes. You rage against the unfathomable injustice and two blocks away some guy watches a baseball game and scratches his balls.

This is the breaking point in a human life, right here. This is waking up on an operating table to find aliens peering down at you, this is hearing the audible voice of God telling you the date the world will end. This is seeing a family of bigfoots in the forest and being without a camera. Welcome to freakdom, Dave. It'll be time to start a website soon.

The English language needs a word for that feeling you get when you badly need help, but there is no one who you can call because you're not popular enough to have friends, not rich enough to have employees, and not powerful enough to have lackeys.

The English language needs a word for that feeling you get when you badly need help, but there is no one who you can call because you're not popular enough to have friends, not rich enough to have employees, and not powerful enough to have lackeys. It's a very distinct cocktail of impotence, loneliness and a sudden stark assessment of your non-worth to society. Enturdment?

We're like one German soldier alone on the beaches of Normandy on D-Day, holding a sharp stick.

Dark matter makes up 99.99 percent of the universe, and they don't know what it is. Well I know. It's apathy.

Raskolnikov realised in that moment that it was no longer possible for him to talk to anyone about anything, ever.