Quotes About Isolation

Behind every locked door on Skid Road are a thousand stories.

The thing was not to get to know any of them, if possible. Once you know your neighbours, you are no longer free, you are all tangled up, you have to stop and speak when you are out and you never feel safe when you are in.

When you're old nobody touches you nobody listens to you—not in this bloody country.so that's what I do. I touch and I listen.

Laura decided to send a cable to Lady Honoria after all, on the chance that she might still reach her in Baden-Baden. But while she was planning what to say, she felt, all of a sudden, the room start to spin about her, dizzying her, so that she fell back across the bed and across the pillows wondering what was happening to her until everything went as pitch-black as night and she sank down and down and down into a dark, endless tunnel.

In her private life, however, Svetlana continued to feel isolated. A friend at the time, Olga Kulikowsky, described her as "one of the loneliest women I have ever known."37 Another friend, Tatiana Tess, said, "Her search for happiness was boundless."38 A die-hard romantic, she longed to meet someone who wouldn't think of her as Stalin's daughter.

You write that you feel bored. You know, my dear, it's the same thing everywhere. I have nothing to do with anyone in Moscow. Sometimes that looks even strange: in so many years not to develop close friendships, but that depends on character.

He said God loved me, even if I was Stalin's daughter."7 The remark suggests a depth of loneliness that is devastating.

Another survivor of Bergen-Belsen, a young girl who knew Anne, commented, "There it took superhuman effort to remain alive. Typhus and debilitation-well, yes. But I feel certain that Anne died of her sister's death. Dying is so frightfully easy for anyone left alone in a concentration camp.

It is lonely never to have been loved, only devoured.

Neighborhood grocery stores, coal yards, gas stations, cheap taverns, big old rundown houses, a few churches with blank embarrassed faces.

I took the conch shell and set it to my ear. Its susurrus sounded less like the sea than the labored breathing of a tiring runner. No doubt I heard what I was listening for.

Try listening to yourself sometime, alone in a transient room in a strange town. The worst is when you draw a blank, and the ash-blonde ghosts of the past carry on long twittering long-distance calls with your inner ear, and there's no way to hang up.

He wouldn't look at me. He stood against the wall, trying to merge with the wall.

I think she must have lived where all the sad poets live, in that secret place where everything hurts all the time.

The laugh came then, a marvelous honking hoorah so infectious that Dill felt it should be quarantined.

Another maladaptive communication pattern is overgeneralization. It refers to the tendency to draw global conclusions in response to isolated events.

once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main.

He walked on steadily, and the black patches returned, took on strength and depth, became the houses of a small town. Joško wondered why there were no lights on anywhere. It wasn't possible for everyone in the town already to be asleep — sunset hadn't been so long ago. Then again, time was no longer what it had been. Before, it splintered easily into hours and minutes, but now it was a dense vastness around him, contracting and expanding erratically, the heart of a dying giant.

Only the lonely know the way I feel tonight.

El protagonista es el Poeta, siempre el Poeta, solo, desconocido, abandonado, hambriento, casi un mendigo, y, sin embargo, como Colón lleva un mundo a la cabeza.

La torre de marfil tentó mi anhelo; quise encerrarme dentro de mí mismo, y tuve hambre de espacio y sed de cielo desde las sombras de mi propio abismo.

A solidão e o sofrimento me fizeram sensível à voz dos poetas.

De repente os muitos desapareceram da minha frente, e o seu era o único rosto que eu via. Queria estar ao seu lado, segurar a sua mão. Mas você está longe – e fui então para a minha solidão.

Naquela noite eu chorava pela minha solidão, pelo abandono que me esperava, quando eu seria como o menino da mata ou o menino na rua vazia.