Quotes About Isolation

Solo hace falta un mal día para sumir al hombre mas cuerdo del mundo en la locura! Así de lejos esta el mundo de donde estoy yo, a solo un mal día

It was at that moment that I came to the conclusion that there is some link between plants and loneliness.

And then again, maybe it was some weird noise in my brother's head, some little digital murmur he never told anyone about. I've heard about that – how you wake up one day and there's like this permanent dial tone droning somewhere behind the meat in your head, a little Dustbuster trapped where the brain saves you from going crazy. After a while you wind up ending it all just to make things quiet again.

I was so in love I went into my room and drank half a bottle of Robitussin.

Things were pretty cold-blooded back in Rockdale. That's when my arms were so pretty I could hold them up to the light and see the veins curling all clean and smooth like little blue branches.

She had typed A Murder of Quality under protest, but this time she declined, so David had to rely on the Embassy secretaries instead. In a letter to Ann written in June, he complained that 'the new book drags along but the girls are all away and there's no one to type it'.35

We're all riding on our bubbles, she thinks, we're all waiting for the blessèd break.

There were no monsters on Dutch Island, but the beast was man, had always been man.

The worst punishment you can give a man is to isolate him. I've never seen one who can handle it.

Somewhere in my past, I learned that if you separate yourself, you don't get hurt. Pain can be avoided.

I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope.

I know how men in exile feed on dreams.

He that has many friends, has no friends.

There was once a Charcoal-burner who lived and worked by himself. A Fuller, however, happened to come and settle in the same neighbourhood; and the Charcoal-burner, having made his acquaintance and finding he was

I flipped through their visions, left my number in their sleep. But no one called back. I called all night, called for years, called till their lids began to ring, ten, twenty, two hundred times, and then they went blind on my dreams. Now their eyes don't open. No one picks up the phone.

Srinagar hunches like a wild cat: lonely sentries, wretched in bunkers at the city's bridges, far from their homes in the plains, licensed to kill . . . while the Jhelum flows under them, sometimes with a dismembered body. On Zero Bridge the jeeps rush by. The candles go out as travelers, unable to light up the velvet Void. What is the blesséd word? Mandelstam gives no clue. One day the Kashmiris will pronounce that word truly for the first time.

The phone is about the same size as a cigarette pack. It's no surprise to me that the traditional cigarette lighter in many cars has turned into the space we use to recharge our phones. They are kin. The phone, like the cigarette, let's the texter/former smoker drop out of any social interaction for a second to get a break and make a little love to the beautiful object. We need something, people. We can't live propless.

I'd stopped waving to passengers in cars by then- I'd grown suspicious of people and all the complications of interior lives- so I sat and watched and rode and thought, and as soon as the bus doors opened, we all rolled out the doorand split apart like billiard balls.

After the incident in the ER, Ino longer wanted to advertise my experience to anyone. You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground. There's a kind of show a kid can do, for a parent – a show of pain, to try to announce something, and in my crying, in the desperate, blabbering, awful mouth-clawing, I had hoped to get something across. Had it come across, any of it? Nope.

I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.

The phone is about the same size as a cigarette pack. It's no surprise to me that the traditional cigarette lighter in many cars has turned into the space we use to recharge our phones. They are kin. The phone, like the cigarette, lets the texter/ former smoker drop out of any social interaction for a second to get a break and make a little love to the beautiful object. We need something, people. We can't live propless.

Until that moment, I'd been living in my own little universe of good-luck hell.

The key that unlocks the door is the simple idea that no clause of the Constitution exists in textual isolation. We must read the document as a whole. Doing so will enable us to detect larger structures of meaning—rules

Submerged, I have become a refugee from the visible world.