Quotes About Isolation

My first novel, 'The Tiger's Daughter,' embodies the loneliness I felt but could not acknowledge, even to myself, as I negotiated the no man's land between the country of my past and the continent of my present.

I'll close my eyes really, really tight and make you all go away.

If you walk through life and you relate to everybody who looks at you, it would send you mad. So you close those people off, and you end up in a very small, tight bubble.

An iron lung looks like an enormous metal coffin or a 19th-century rocket ship: only its occupant's head is left outside, a tight seal around the neck.

Is a rope around the neck and a drop from the gallows all that we can do for a guy who lived his life without ever smiling? ~ Inoue

How I delight in this well-timed snow that buries the mountain path behind me as I enter intent on long seclusion

I long now to be alone in some far-off cave and think without thought of others' eyes on me

I might have been a goldfish in a glass bowl for all the privacy I got.

If your motivation when you get up in the morning is to have very little contact with anyone, come home, and go to bed as soon as you can, almost everything that occurs during the day will make you feel brittle and irritable, because it's in your way.

I had carried on when all I wanted was to be dead. I had stayed alive for other people. I never stayed alive for myself. I cannot begin to describe the intensity of that effort.

We are not easy to help. Nor are we easy to be around. Nobody with a serious illness is easy to be around. Although not obviously physically disabled, we struggle to get things done. Our energy levels are dangerously low. Sometimes, we find it hard to talk. We get angry and frustrated. We fall into despair. We cry, for no apparent reason. Sometimes we find it difficult to eat, or to sleep. Often, we have to go to bed in the afternoon or all day.

Sometimes, we find it hard to talk. We get angry and frustrated. We fall into despair. We cry, for no apparent reason. Sometimes we find it difficult to eat, or to sleep. Often, we have to go to bed in the afternoon or all day.

It did not seem to matter whether I was present or not. After a time I became resentful, feeling that the flowers mocked me, blooming in defiance of my listless misery.

Look for other women with whom you can connect as well. So many women are isolated—with no friends as neighbors, no family close by, no kindred spirits.

I didn't think I was the only one who loved my children but struggled with isolation and boredom in the sometimes overwhelming details of daily life. I believed that, among like-minded women, there was a need for community as we strived to raise godly children without many people to teach us or to share our burden.

Loneliness is the biggest enemy of a human. Cause it is more than the enemy. When a person becomes lonely from inside, no one can save the person from sinking under the deep sea of end.

Avui el cel és ja només ofec, buidor, ploguda nit al mar, al camp, dolenta mà. Com que no puc mai més dormir, faig del meu llit por de presó.

He promised all those things men promise when they are far away and can feel the phone lines stretching too tight, the wires and cables rapidly unraveling from their braids, snapping, recoiling, collapsing the poles along the way.

I go out alone to visit a man alone in this autumn dusk

CALL it loneliness, that deep, beautiful color no one can describe: over these dark mountains, the gathering autumn dusk.

I am aware that in presenting myself as the advocate of the Indians and their rights, I shall stand very much alone.

We'd been walking in endless rectangles and now we were near the candy store again. The lights were out, the security gate down. We leaned up against the wall of a bank and I could feel the cool stone on my back, the billions of dollars thrumming through wires beneath and behind me, or on the night waves above. I wasn't quite sure how they traveled. Or how much they got out anymore.

The hallways were starkly illuminated by fluorescent tubes and populated by shambling disheveled ancients supporting themselves on walkers, harried by attendants dressed like hospital personnel but with the dead-eyed stares of prison warders.

Questo luogo caldo e umido, che sapeva di muffa, dove aveva trovato rifugio, era un mausoleo di libri, un tesoro dimenticato, un cimitero di tutte le pagine non lette e illeggibili.