Quotes About Isolation

And being alone and being lonely were two different things but they felt exactly the same: they felt horrible.

And once again, there was a table and several worlds between them.

So even the transatlantic static couldn´t mask the lifeless quality of his words.

The only people who spoke to her were Jimmy Vaughn, who was sweet when he wasn't wasted, though he was wasted all the time...

It was nice to be around people I knew cared for me, but at the same time, the more time I spent with all of them, the more alone I felt

Restricted happiness is better than the freedom of solitude." -Yuichi to Wataru

California's like an artificial limb the rest of the country doesn't really need. You can quote me.

With one long breath, caught and held in his chest, he fought his sadness over his solitary life. Don't cry, you idiot! Live or die, but don't poison everything...

There's a woman in the bakery who smiles at me as if everyone I've ever known has just died.

If you discovered that you were the only person in the world, and everything you see around you was in fact a part of you, dramatised, how would that change what you are doing right now, right this very instant? What would you stop doing? What would you start doing? What would suddenly not matter at all?

going to sea is like going to prison with the added possibility of drowning.

The sounds were trapped in the tank with him. His fingers pawed at the wet plastic but could find no hold.

I'm the drowning boy. I've been drowning for years.

When virtual reality gets cheaper than dating, society is doomed.

On the fourth day of telecommuting, I realized that clothes are totally unnecessary.

He wasn't sure what to do. If he left the rock, it would only take a few minutes of desert air to dry his pool, and then all that would remain of him would be a small crucible of brown powder, a powder the wind would find and scatter. He wished to stay there, to protect the pool. But after a time, he thought differently. He understood that if he stayed upon the rock, he would simply disappear as well. And so, he rose.

This is one big problem with working remotely: no one believes you have a job at all.

Writers aren't the most well-adjusted people, and it's telling that our preferred means of interaction with civilization is throwing paragraph-shaped grenades at people from behind the safety of a laptop.

Bukowski was wrong. these words don't matter. you pound them out and send them off and they're gone just like that and all you're left with is a blank screen staring you in the face.

Counting sheep no longer works. The day comes crashing down on you and you can't escape it. You go home, have two shots of Jack, look through the bills, fix yourself a TV dinner, watch the Lakers lose another one, take a bath, think briefly of cutting your wrists knowing you don't have the guts to do it, and you go to bed. So much for the sheep.

she had this inherent need to create a new identity for each and every occasion, to become someone different every day to mask the emptiness, the pain of true isolation. If you tried you could smell the death surrounding her; a dead soul is black regardless of what it may be wearing.

we sweat through our doldrums somehow, sheer insane boredom; society can no longer focus and my poems keep drying up and blowing away.

You cried out in your sleep last night, steel toe boots doing dances in your head. It's raining now and no one cares. Palmetto trees stand guard outside. He died last night, actually at 7:45 this morning. Will you cry? Will you?

We share this moment not through touch but our eyes, yours brilliant, shining, willing, wanting to know feel the pain, understand, mine dead to the world, a bleak history of empty files