Quotes About Isolation

Kdo je pÃ…â"¢ítelem vÅ¡ech, není pÃ…â"¢ítelem nikoho.

La soledad es la suerte de todos los espíritus excelentes

There is in the world only the choice between loneliness and vulgarity. All young people should be taught now to put up with loneliness ... because the less man is compelled to come into contact with others, the better off he is.

There is in the world only the choice between loneliness and vulgarity.

there is some wisdom in taking a gloomy view, in looking upon the world as a kind of Hell, and in confining one's efforts to securing a little room that shall not be exposed to the fire.

Die Einsamkeit ist das Erbe aller außergewöhnlichen Seelen.

Die allermeiste Gesellschaft ist so beschaffen, dass wer sie gegen die Einsamkeit vertauscht einen guten Handel macht.

There are things that you can't do - like writing letters to a part of yourself. To your feet or hair. Or heart.

A sparrow lay dead on the backseat. She had found her way through a hole in the windscreen, tempted by some seat-sponge for her nest. She never found her way out. No one noticed her panicked car-window appeals. She died on the backseat, with her legs in the air. Like a joke.

Let's leave one alive so that it can be lonely.

A quiet bubble floating on a sea of noise. (Estha)

Rahel never wrote to him. There are things that you can't do—like writing letters to a part of yourself.

No matter how elaborate its charade, she recognized loneliness when she saw it.

On bad days the orange walls held hands and bent over him, inspecting him, like malevolent doctors, slowly, deliberately, squeezing the breath out of him and making him scream. Sometimes they receded of their own accord, and the room he lay in grew impossibly large, terrorizing him with the specter of his own insignificance. That too made him cry out.

So on the days that the radio played Ammu's songs, people avoided her, made little loops around her, because everybody agreed that it was best to just Let Her Be.

She kept her doors and windows locked, unless she was using them.

Sitting next to Tilo, breathing next to her, he felt like an empty house whose locked windows and doors were creaking open a little, to air the ghosts trapped inside it.

Slowly, over the years, Estha withdrew from the world. He grew accustomed to the uneasy octopus that lived inside him and squirted its inky tranquilizer on his past. Gradually the reason for his silence was hidden away, entombed somewhere deep in the soothing folds of the fact of it.

He left behind a Hole in the Universe through which darkness poured like liquid tar. Through which their mother followed without even turning to wave good-bye. She left them behind, spinning in the dark, with no moorings, in a place with no foundation.

A quiet bubble floating on a sea of noise.

No matter how elaborate its charade, she recognised loneliness when she saw it.

No man is an island, but some of us are long peninsulas.

When one is lonely, one does foolish things.

Three Plagues of nursing home existence: boredom, loneliness, and helplessness.