Quotes About Isolation

Whether the berserker is beneath humanity as an animal, above it as a god, or both, he is cut off from all human community when he is in this state. No living human has any claim on him, not even the claim of being noticed and remembered.

Burglary's more fun than socializing, I always say.

Yes, all the inhabitants of the store had left. But that didn't mean we were alone.

Peace and quiet. That's one thing to be said for deserts. They give you a chance to get away from the everyday pressures of life. And when those everyday pressures consist of seven furious djinn and one apperplectic master magician, a few hindered thousand square miles of sand, rock, wind, and desolation is exactly what you need.

Cities get me down. Almost as if I am underground. London is particularly bad. Cold, grey, heavy with odours and rain. It makes me long for the south. For the deserts and the blank blue sky.

You will be forced away from the warmth of people's homes to dwell by yourself in lonely places.

The thing about living alone is that it gives you a lot of time to think. You don't necessarily reach any conclusions, because wisdom is largely a function of intelligence and self-awareness, not time on your hands. But you do become very good at thinking yourself into endless loops of desperation in half the time it would take a normal person.

There is nothing sadder than sitting in a car and having absolutely nowhere to go.

At some point, loneliness becomes less a condition than a habit.

At our age, loneliness can seem so permanent.

None of us makes eye contact. We have pretty much had it with each other. We are injured and angry, scared and sad. Some families, like some couples, become toxic to each other after prolonged exposure. - Judd Foxman

And no matter which way you turn your desperate gaze, there's absolutely no land in sight, which is strange, because you didn't think you'd gone out that far to begin with.

Being an official divorce brought late-night channel-surfing up to a staggering new level of depressing. I just wanted to belong to someone already.

I'm just so fucking depressed, I just can't seem to get out this slump.

People don't always want to be with people. It gets tiring.

Outside has everything. Whenever I think of a thing now like skis or fireworks or islands or elevators or yo-yos, I have to remember they're real, they're actually happening in Outside all together. It makes my head tired. And people too, firefighters teachers burglars babies saints soccer players and all sorts, they're all really in Outside. I'm not there, though, me and Ma, we're the only ones not there. Are we still real?

I'm not crazy or dangerous, just a bit eccentric and lonely.

I understand what it's like to come with your family, and to uproot yourself and come to another culture. You need a lot of support. People say, 'She's got her daughter she's got her husband.' Yeah, but she hasn't got anyone else.

People don't really understand, but having people stare, and point, and take pictures, even if it is in a positive framework, is quite isolating there's no two ways about it. You feel a little bit, you know, freakish.

Pensavo al mio romanzo, La settimana bianca. Romand mi aveva detto che quel libro raccontava esattamente la sua infanzia. Pensavo al grande vuoto bianco che si era scavato a poco a poco dentro di lui fino a lasciare soltanto un simulacro di uomo vestito di nero, un baratro da cui proveniva la corrente d'aria gelida che faceva rabbrividire il disegnatore.

Su suite la ilumina una bombilla de voltaje muy débil y tan acogedora como la cámara frigorífica de una carnicería. En otro tiempo podías estar seguro de que las paredes y el télefono estaban atiborrados de micrófonos, pero ahora ya no puedes tener la seguridad de nada.

L'immagine che conservo della mezz'ora passata con loro è una scena da film dell'orrore. Ci siamo noi, puliti e in ordine, incolumi, e attorno a noi la cerchia dei lebbrosi, dei radioattivi, dei naufraghi tornati allo stato selvaggio. Solo il giorno prima erano come noi, noi eravamo come loro, ma a loro è capitato qualcosa che a noi non è capitato, e adesso apparteniamo a due umanità separate.

Aveva deciso di non parlare più, mai più. Ormai era l'unica forma di protezione che riuscisse a immaginare. Neanche una parola, da lui non avrebbero cavato più niente. Sarebbe diventato un blocco compatto di silenzio, una superficie liscia e scivolosa contro cui la sventura sarebbe rimbalzata senza trovare un accesso.

poi, c'è la ferita che riguarda continuamente il cristiano nel mondo, quella della solitudine.