Quotes About Isolation

I can only tell you how I felt. Ugly. disgusting. Stupid. Small. Worthless. Forgotten. It just feels like there's no choice. Like it's the most logical thing to do because what else is there? You think, No one will even miss me. They won't know I'm gone. The world will go on, and it won't matter that I'm not here. Maybe it's better if I was never here.

He knows as well as I do what the Why is. It's everything changing when I was ten. It's the bullying and the fear. So much fear of everything, but mostly death. Sudden, out-of-the-blue death. It's also me being terrified of life. It's the giant emptiness in my chest. It's touching my face or my skin and feeling nothing. This is the Why of me staying home in the first place. And the Why of me eating. And the Why of me ending up here. But that doesn't mean I want to die.

It can get kind of nerve-racking when you realise how isolated you are from the actual world here. But all the scary stuff doesn't really compare to getting lost in your own mind.

You were up on the ledge because you didn't know where else to turn and what else to do. You'd lost all hope.

I punch on the radio, but all I get is country music and static, and I don't know which is worse.

The man out on the street was something without a human nature or a personality of its own. He was on a stage. The street was another world.

Life without a phone is riskier, lonelier, more vivid.

I don't understand why we must do things in this world, why we must have friends and aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn't it be better to retreat to a faraway corner of the world, where all its noise and complications would be heard no more? Then we could renounce culture and ambitions; we would lose everything and gain nothing; for what is there to be gained from this world?

What do you do from morning to night? I endure myself.

As far as I am concerned, I resign from humanity. I no longer want to be, nor can still be, a man. What should I do? Work for a social and political system, make a girl miserable? Hunt for weaknesses in philosophical systems, fight for moral and esthetic ideals? It's all too little. I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone. But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?

Tears do not burn except in solitude.

We are so lonely in life that we must ask ourselves if the loneliness of dying is not a symbol of our human existence.

???? ???? ????? ????? ?? ?? ??????? ??? ?? ?????????. ??? ????? ?????????? I feel completely detached from any country, any group. I am a metaphysically displaced person

Jacob, my old friend came first. he was sad. I shouted down to him, The stake, old friend of a lifetime, do something! But we all sit on one, was his reply. I don't see you on one, I objected. And we see nobody else's either. Each of us is alone, on his own stake. This is the stake we share.

Only those moments count, when the desire to remain by yourself is so powerful that you'd prefer to blow your brains out than exchange a word with someone.

Living in musty shadows and dismal, oppressive silence, Thérèse could see her whole life stretching out before her totally void, bringing night after night the same cold bed and morning after morning the same empty day.

they seemed to be greater strangers than before

These people came into the world and left it bound to their soil, proliferating on their own dung-hills with slow deliberation like the uncomplicated soul of trees which scatter their seed about their feet, with little conception of any larger world beyond the dun rocks among which they vegetated.

When they got back into the carriage they felt greater strangers than before.

On a pitch black, starless night, a solitary man was trudging along the main road from Marchiennes to Montsou, ten kilometres of cobblestones running straight as a die across the bare plain between fields of beet.

The sea with its perpetual oscillation, that obstinate swell sweeping up to the cliffs twice a day, exasperated him: it was senseless force, indifferent to his grief, wearing down the same rocks for centuries while never mourning the death of a single human being. it was too vast, too cold; and he would hurry home and shut himself indoors, to feel less insignificant, less crushed between the dual infinities of sea and sky.

Mezarl?k boÅŸtu,karlar?n üzerinde ayak izlerinden baÅŸka bir ÅŸey kalmam??t?.Ölü Jeanne,Paris'in kar??s?nda sonsuza kadar yaln?z kal?yordu.

All at once, she had fallen into the most extreme wretchedness: that of believing that one is not loved.

for all around on the bridges and embankment Paris roared while they, on the water's edge, tasted all the joy of being alone and ignored by the rest of the world. From that moment the wharf was their little strip of countryside (93)