Quotes About Isolation

Isolation among older people is a massive problem, and my grandad used to come round for Sunday lunch every week for as long as I can remember.

I might have sung party numbers, but I love to party alone.

If I were packing for a deserted island, I would bring sunscreen, a water purifier, something to start a fire with, my sister, and something for protection.

There is superficiality to Hollywood, and yes, it is charming. Of course there is sunshine, but there is also a dark side. It's a difficult place if you don't know people, and if you can't drive, you will find it lonely. You have to create your own bubble.

I didn't have that many friends my first few years of high school. It was very cliquey and I'm super shy, so it was hard to make friends.

I don't want to get all self-help on everyone. But I definitely think there was a period in my life where I thought I would feel the same way, forever. And every day felt like 'Groundhog Day,' where I was super, super depressed.

Some people think my singing is superb. But they're mainly on strong medication and not allowed out much.

People in this world of superficial communication find themselves isolated and lonely and have difficult in talking about personal things that really matter to them.

Embrace your solitude and love it. Endure the pain it causes, and try to sing out with it. For those near to you are distant...

The necessary thing is after all but this; solitude, great inner solitude. Going into oneself for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain.

there is only one solitude, and it is vast, heavy, difficult to bear, and almost everyone has hours when he would gladly exchange it for any kind of sociability, however trivial or cheap, for the tiniest outward agreement with the first person who comes along....

Never forget that solitude is my lot ... I implore those who love me to love my solitude. ( Letter to Mimi Romanelli , May 11, 1910)

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough.

It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.

What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude. To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours—that is what you must be able to attain.

Whoever you are: in the evening step out of your room, where you know everything; yours is the last house before the far-off: whoever you are. With your eyes, which in their weariness barely free themselves from the worn-out threshold, you lift very slowly one black tree and place it against the sky: slender, alone. And you have made the world. And it is huge and like a word which grows ripe in silence. And as your will seizes on its meaning, tenderly your eyes let it go...

Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.

Then suddenly you're left all alone with your body that can't love you and your will that can't save you.

And so I check myself and swallow the luring call of dark sobs. Alas, whom can we turn to in our need? Not angels, not humans, and the sly animals see at once how little at home we are in the interpreted world. That leaves us some tree on a hillside, on which our eyes fasten day after day; leaves us yesterday's street and the coddled loyalty of an old habit that liked it here, stayed on, and never left.

At first the solitude charmed me like a prelude, but so much music wounded me.

Yes, he knew that we was withdrawing from everything: not merely from human beings. A moment more and everything will have lost its meaning, and that table and the cup, and the chair to which he clings, all the near and the commonplace, will have become unintelligible, strange and heavy. So he sat there and waited until it should have happened. And defended himself no longer.

But perhaps these are the very hours during which solitude grows; for its growing is painful as the growing of boys and sad as the beginning of spring.

Suddenly I'm as if cast out, and this solitude surrounds me as something vast and unbounded, when my feeling, standing on the hills of my breasts, cries out for wings or for an end.

Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you.