Quotes About Isolation

The truck was its own driver, and that driver was a high-functioning paranoid.

It is surely ironic to fuss over how fresh the fish being fed to him are and how "authentic" his tank vegetation is when he is isolated, held captive, and put on display. The ritual of care disguises the violence, just like the preparation of sushi itself.

One of the standard methods of criminal escape involved cannibalism.

Arendt's "totalitarian personality," the "completely isolated human being who, without any other social ties to family, friends, comrades, or even mere acquaintances, derives his sense of having a place in the world only from his belonging to a movement, his membership in the party.

A traveler can meet a man born in Poland, brought up in the Soviet Union, who now lives in Belarus – and he has never left his village.

Even Silence Has an End: My Six Years of Captivity in the Colombian Jungle in

She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.

Arroo!" I am here. "Arroo!" I am here. I am here. I am here. Alone.

There goes the dinner-bell, and here comes my aunt to scold me for sitting here at my desk all day, instead of staying with the company: wish the company were - gone.

The red world And corresponding red breezes Went on Geryon did not

I walk and walk with cold hands. Back at the house it is filled with longing, nothing to carry longing away. I look back over my life. I try to find analogies. There are none. I have longed for people before, I have loved people before. Not like this. It was not this.

There is a loneliness that fills the plain. Total. Lunar.

I lack myself.

Who knows what will happen if I'm alone with my grief.

The fact that Anna is somewhere having coffee or a dream is an assault on me. I hate these moments of poverty. What does man eat? ask the phenomenologists. Like the dogs, names, down there, starving.

in between the neighbour who recalls her coming in from a walk on the moors with her face "lit up by a divine light" and the sister who tells us Emily never made a friend in her life, is a space where the little raw soul slips through.

trapped in his own bad apple. Each morning a shock to return to the cut soul.

Whenever I visit my mother I feel I am turning into Emily Brontë, my lonely life around me like a moor, my ungainly body stumping over the mud flats with a look of transformation that dies when I come into the kitchen door. What meat is it, Emily, we need?

Geryon closed his eyes and listened to engines vibrating deep in the moon-splashed canals of his brain.

Unsociable even at home and unable to meet the eyes of strangers when she ventured out, Emily made her awkward way across days and years whose bareness appalls her biographers.

The fact that Anna is somewhere having coffee or a dream is an assault on me. I hate these moments of poverty, What does man eat? ask the phenomenologists. Likes the dogs, names, down there, starving.

no interaction with another person ever brought her a bolt of pure aliveness like entering the water on a still morning with the world empty in every direction to the sky.

Emily is in the parlour brushing the carpet," records Charlotte in 1828. Unsociable even at home

A stranger is someone who sits very still at the kitchen table, looks down at his knuckles, thinks some day we will laugh about this, doesn't believe it.