Quotes About Isolation

You don't know what it's like, he whispered. To have the serum in your head.

Never trust anyone. You are always alone, and betrayal is inevitable.

After he died, people would always say to me, At least you have Wyn. She touches my arm. But I didn't. There wasn't much left of you. And what there was, you weren't willing to share with me.

Recovery from trauma can take place only within the context of relationships; it cannot occur in isolation. In renewed connections with other people, the survivor recreates the psychological faculties damaged or deformed by the traumatic experience.

Without you, I am an empty place where spiders crawl and nothing takes root.

Fluzzy, where are you? Fluzzy, what am I going to tell them if you get lost? How can I get lost when she won't let me out of the house?

There's a difference between lonely and alone.

What could be more lonely than to be enveloped in silence, to be the last of your people to speak your native tongue, to have no way to pass on the wisdom of the elders, to anticipate the promise of the children. This tragic fate is indeed the plight of someone somewhere roughly every two weeks.

You're very Johnny Depp in Secret Window.

Uske itna bhi qareeb na ho jaao Ke aachank se dono durr ho jaao

I have discovered that most people have no one to talk to, no one, that is, who really wants to listen. When it does at last dawn on a man that you really want to hear about his business, the look that comes over his face is something to see.

He accepted the belief that the driving force behind the authentic artist is his self-isolation and even his self-immolation.

There was no feeling at all between Joan and me, so I talked about myself. I talked without stopping for two hours about myself, pulling little sounds of understanding out of poor Joan's mouth the way in prison we pulled plates of food from slots in the doors.

The driver of an automobile on a lonely road is a set of perceptions mounted in the forehead of a mechanical monster.

I placed a jar in Tennessee,And round it was, upon a hill.It made the slovenly wildernessSurround that hill.

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things.... It is difficult even to choose the adjective For this blank cold, this sadness without cause...

I placed a jar in Tennessee and round it was upon a hill.

The salt hung on his spirit like a frost, The dead brine melted in him like a dew Of winter, until nothing of himself Remained, except some starker, barer self In a starker, barer world, in which the sun Was not the sun because it never shone With bland complaisance...

Not less because in purple I descended The western day, through what you called The loneliest air, not less was I myself

A batter'd, wreck'd old man,Thrown on this savage shore, far from home,Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd and nigh to death,I take my way along the island's edge,Venting a heavy heart.

As the world gathers momentum toward nihilation on all fronts --- we walk apart, each to his own lonely end . . . not hand in hand as lovers walk.

Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.

Yes, after all, this by now was his customary loneliness: there was little else he desired for the present than the hospitality of the dark.

Sometimes I feel like I have walked into the middle of a movie. Maybe I can make my own movie. The film will be the story of my life. No, not my life, but of this experience. I'll call it what the lady who is the prosecutor called me. MONSTER.