Quotes About Isolation

Though if he did say it no one there ever heard him.

I'd thrown everyone's number out. Nothing could be done. I was gone from everyone.

Shy from the sky. No answer lies there. It cannot care, especially for what it no longer knows. Treat that place as a thing unto itself, independent of all else, and confront it on those terms. You alone must find the way. No one else can help you. Every way is different. And if you do lose yourself at least take solace in the absolute certainty that you will perish

leaving those on board with no place else to go.

I'm too far from here to know anything or anyone anymore. I don't even know myself.

I had trouble just walking out my door. Things are definitely deteriorating. Even reaching for the latch made me feel sick to my stomach.

I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

Why can't the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn't care, I finally answer, and I know I'm right. It's like I've been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask.

There are moments when you can only stand and stare, watching the world forget you as you remove yourself from it - when you overcome it and cease to exist as the person you were.

Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.

So I saw that there was only me. There was only me who could worry about what was happening here, inside these walls of my life. Other people had their own worlds to worry about, and in the end, they had to fend for themselves, just like us.

The thrill of being ignored!

The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams.

Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

I think of how she lives alone, just like me, and how she never had any real family, and how she only has sex with people. She never lets any love get in the way. I think she had a family once, but it was one of those beat-the-crap-out-of-each-other situations. There's no shortage of them around here. I think she loved them, and all they ever did was hurt her.

For a moment, I debated whether I should tell someone about the words I'd started writing down, but I couldn't. In a way, I felt ashamed, even though my writing was the one thing that whispered okayness in my ear. I didn't speak it, to anyone.

She closes the door completely, and I crouch there. I allow myself to fall forward and rest my head on the door frame. My breath bleeds. My heartbeat drowns my ears.

Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.

It's the story of one of those perpetual survivors- an expert at being left behind.

He was a wasteland in a suit; he was bent-postured, he was broken.

There were thousands of households throughout that city and there was something happening in all of them. There was some kind of story in each, but self-contained. No one else knew. No one else cared.

the city around us seemed colder than ever again, and I realised that even if it really had sensed something going on, it certainly didn't care. It moved forward again. I could feel it. I could almost hear it laugh and taste it. Close. Watching. Mocking. And it was cold, so cold, as it watched my sister bleeding at the back of our house.

Miré, sólo unos segundos. Hacía 22 meses que no veía el mundo exterior. -¿Qué aspecto tenía? - Había estrellas. Me quemaron los ojos.