Quotes About Isolation

If I killed myself now would I make the papers would anyone care I already know the answer to that besides it's irrelevant

why do they think that when you are occupied reading the L.A. Times or perhaps a fine novel that in reality you are dying of loneliness and in specific need of their company?

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

I sit in the coffee shop waiting for night and I watch the same people scratch their asses at the same tables behind the same windows. I think of Camus, lovely and brittle, and the gunman on the sands and know I'll be here tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow with these lovely blue-gray sharks dwarfing the evening with their self-important air, looking into the murky bottoms of coffee cups and smoking my never-ending cigarettes.

There's this space in our lives that we attempt to fill with more space and the nothingness grows larger while our lives get smaller, a fact we can't seem to accept very well. So, we take walks and we work and we go to movies and basketball games and church and we Exist in our nothing lives and when we die a speech is made and we are forgotten once again, only more permanently this time.

i'm sleeping next to no one or no thing except the mirror and the only thing i see in the room is the reflection of the person i despise the most

normalcy? an answer to a crossword puzzle question my body bears the strain of a suicide wannabe the look in my eye turns people away humanity frightens so easily that the words bubble to the top of the lobotomized

my chest hurts nearly every day now. people laugh and tell me i have heartburn. some tell me i'm heartbroken or depressed but i've been both and this is neither. yep, this time i think i'm going to bite the big one, keel over, croak and all of that any day now, any hour, any minute, any second, anytime.

when you despise yourself and everyone else in the world, you just give up, say fuck it, and pray the fuckers will accidentally press the big bomb buttons

They gave me killer pills that knocked me on my ass for a few hours at least so I wouldn't have to hear the godawful screaming. I'm exhausted and my blood boils and there's nothing I can do. There was another life that seems so long ago and I try to reconstruct images, events, people, all just dreams tethered to the knife in my soul. This is my cross, my dagger, my napalm, my dance of the dead…

I turned and beheld seven rows of plasma screens, each bearing seven vivid scenes, each flickering, each pulsing with a light revealing distant terrors, conflagrations, sufferings - and all thereby brought so close, and all thereby kept far away.

First off, make sure you won't be interrupted during your religious (or magical) rite. If you're at home, tell your family that you'll be busy and aren't to be disturbed. If alone, take the phone off the hook, lock the doors, and pull the blinds, if you wish. It's best if you can ensure that you will be alone and undisturbed for some time.

I do not know why I shot the bird. At the moment I squeezed the trigger it seemed that the only two things in the world were the crow and myself. And now there is just me.

He lay there shaking in the light of the red lamps, in a silent hall, alone with his triumph, unable to move and bleeding to death.

He withdrew then, leaving [him] standing in the bloody morning sunlight, leaving him all alone at the heart of his fortress, for the second time, with nothing but a corpse for company.

Privacy on a ship at sea is about as real as fucking fairy piss

We all live in a state of profound isolation. No other human being can ever know what it's like to be you from the inside. And no amount of reaching out to others can ever make them feel exactly what you feel. All media of communication are a by-product of our sad inability to communicate directly from mind to mind.

Heaven looked like a lonely place. And

kills billions. While the remaining humans are struggling to adapt and survive, they notice that some among them have... changed. Rachel Wheeler finds herself alone in the city, where violent survivors known as "Zapheads" roam the streets, killing and destroying. Her only hope is to reach the mountains, where her grandfather, a legendary survivalist, established a compound in preparation for Doomsday.

feet. The wild dog that had bitten her could have inflicted any number of infections, but it wasn't like she could hobble into the ER and have modern medicine deal with it. In After, there were no insurance plans. She leaned against a tree, its rough bark rubbing her spine as she sneaked a look down the forested slope. The Blue Ridge Mountains were sheathed in October's mellow gold

this was looking like her final hour. They'd not seen a Zaphead for two days, ever since leaving the highway and taking the Old Turnpike Road, a winding dotted line on the map that promised few houses and even fewer murderous mutants. The bite wound on Rachel's left calf had gotten steadily worse, passing from

benevolence once they have nudged against you and invited your aff ection with their smooth, glistening smiles. Rereading Island of the Blue Dolphins, I could

All night I sat there with the body of my brother and did not sleep. I vowed that someday I would go back and kill the wild dogs in the cave. I would kill all of them. I thought of how I would do it, but mostly I thought of Ramo, my brother.

Despair filled his skull even more tightly than his own brain. All around him cars filled with normal people perfectly unaware of the disease turning Perry's body inside out. Fucking normal people.