Quotes About Isolation

The land of darkness and the shadow of death.

An habitation of dragons, and a court for owls.

The I in illness is isolation, and the crucial letters in wellness are we.

It is all very beautiful and magical here---a quality which cannot be described. You have to live it and breathe it, let the sun bake it into you. The skies and land are so enormous, and the detail so precise and exquisite that wherever you are you are isolated in a glowing world between the macro and the micro, where everything is sidewise under you and over you, and the clocks stopped long ago.

I recognize that at the same time that I am a victim, I am also a fool. But my stupidity is due to my isolation, and that's why I say to my fellow citizens: Let's raise our heads; we only trust ourselves; let us say: let there be freedom, and freedom will be!

esse homem que morava numa garrafa de uísque como os barcos dos colecionadores

Quando um coração se fecha, faz muito mais barulho do que uma porta.

Une pendule inlocalisable perdue parmi les ténèbres des armoires laissait s'égoutter des heures étouffées dans un quelconque couloir lointain encombré de malles de bois précieux et conduisant à des chambres raides et humides où le cadavre de Proust flottait encore, éparpillant dans l'air raréfié un relent usé d'enfance.

o pai de manta nos joelhos à cata de um - Sabes? entre meia dúzia de palavras que tinha, não meia dúzia, duas ou três, não duas ou três, nenhuma, bolhinhas de cuspo que rebentavam mudas (...)

somos búzios que nenhum eco habita

Como quando se tosse nas garagens à noite, pensei, e se sente o peso insuportável da própria solidão, nas orelhas, sob a forma de estampidos reboantes, (...).

away from Clive.

if the wealthiest fraction of a society feel that they can afford to insulate themselves from the common fate and buy their way out of the common institutions, that is also a form of social isolation.

Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone.

To be left alone is the most precious thing one can ask of the modern world.

Loneliness is not cured by human company. Loneliness is cured by contact with reality.

All my life, he thinks, my best companions cannot speak the same language as me.

They sleep despite noise, despite cold, despite hunger, as though desperate to stay removed from the waking world for as long as possible.

he moved neither forward nor backward in time, but merely endured variations of the same day over and over. Maybe he was the one trapped underwater, under a Plexiglas floor, while the world moved on, men and women checking in and out of rooms, lugging overstuffed suitcases, the soles of their shoes passing lightly above him.

But on most days, especially the warm ones, life exhausts him; the worsening traffic and graffiti and company politics, everyone grousing about bonuses, benefits, overtime. Sometimes in the slow heat of summer, long before dawn, Volkheimer paces in the harsh dazzle of the billboard light and feels his loneliness on him like a disease.

Somewhere, someone is figuring out how to push back the hood of grief, but Marie-Laure cannot. Not yet. The truth is that she is a disabled girl with no home and no parents.

What is blindness? Where there should be a wall, her hands find nothing. Where there should be nothing, a table leg gouges her shin. Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.

But seven-year-old Werner seems to float. He is undersized and his ears stick out and he speaks with a high, sweet voice; the whiteness of his hair stops people in their tracks. Snowy, milky, chalky. A color that is the absence of color. Every morning he ties his shoes, packs newspaper inside his coat as insulation against the cold, and begins interrogating the world.

She takes no notice of him; she seems to know nothing but the morning.