Quotes About Isolation

In 'Dublinesque', Spanish writer Enrique Vila-Matas inverts the terms of Joyce's 'Ulysses' and tells the story of a man who, after living a hyperkinetic life like those of Odysseus and Leopold Bloom, resolves to never leave his room again and to reduce his mental activity to a minimum.

If the Internet went down or there was no telly I would be 'oh no, oh no.'

With the Internet, we can communicate instantly across the globe, but the net also makes it possible for us to shrink ever further into our own skins - a state of being that neither suits the human temperament nor provides ground for further growth.

I liked Columbia, but it was like high school in that there was this big social world that I was not part of. I existed on the side, far away. That might be temperamental, my own fear of large groups, more than anything else. But I had a handful of professors who meant a lot to me.

A Jew without Jews, without Judaism, without Zionism, without Jewishness, without a temple or an army or even a pistol, a Jew clearly without a home, just the object itself, like a glass or an apple.

Fifteen minutes shy of two o'clock. The thick of the night. The zone of lost objectivity.

I have always had a sense that we are all pretty much alone in life, particularly in adolescence.

And he did see--that life was rotten, that there were no heroes, really, and that you couldn't trust anybody, not even yourself.

He was swept with a sadness, a sadness deep and penetrating, leaving him desolate like someone washed up on a beach, a lone survivor in a world full of strangers.

It came to me that hell would not be fire and smoke after all but arctic, everything white and frigid. Hell would be not anger but indifference.

It would be nice to avoid the world, to leave it and all its threats and unhappiness. Not to die or anything like that, but to find a place of solitude and solace.

there was a quality of loneliness to her that comes when your only friend walks away and you don't know why and there's no one else and never will be. A left-behind look.

How can I die alone.Where will I be then who am now alone,what groans so patheticallyin this room where I am alone?

You've left a lot out Being in doubt you left it out Your mother Aunt Bernice in Nokomis to the west and south (?) in trailer park Dead now for years as one says You've left them out David your son Your friend John You've left them out You thought you were writing about what you felt You've left it out Your love your life your home your wife You've left her out No one is one No one's alone No world's that small No life You left it out

I felt so painfully isolated that I vowed I would get revenge on the world by becoming a famous cartoonist.

For three years Albert would stay huddled in his den during the day and see almost no one, content to be alone with his books. From time to time, unshaved and sloppily dressed, he would appear in the street to take a meal or perform some errand. Then it was back to his room for more study.

Part of the power of Emerson's individualism is his insistence, at crucial moments, that individualism does not mean isolation or self-sufficiency. This is not a paradox, for it is only the strong individual who can frankly concede the sometimes surprising extent of his own dependence.

June recalls as a child being raised in a loveless home: "I remember climbing up on the stool in the morning to get the cereal down from the cupboard. And when I took a bath, I took it alone. I didn't have rubber duckies or anything like that to play with. My grandmother would leave me and come back thirty minutes later to see me shivering in the cold water.

The mind of a writer can be a truly terrifying thing. Isolated, neurotic, caffeine-addled, crippled by procrastination, consumed by feelings of panic, self-loathing, and soul-crushing inadequacy. And that's on a good day." [ Academy Award ceremony , March 2, 2014]

In any artistic rendering of the city theme alienation is a constant. Given the anonymity the city provides, it could hardly be otherwise. Artists, especially writers, have recognised this dichotomy, and that cities have always proved a source of freedom by providing anonymity, notwithstanding the estrangement and isolation that goes with it. Indeed, the city's impetus towards modernity is to be found in that narrow zone between loss of community and discovery of self.

HELLO DARKNESS, MY OLD FRIEND

There is nothing for us there.

and those poor souls who were lonely and just wanted to talk.

She didn't have much choice. There wasn't anyone to comfort her, and so she'd never learned how to be comforted. She was trying.