Quotes About Isolation

ViolenÈ›a era singura limb? pe care n-o putea înÈ›elege nimeni. Nu existau traduc?tori. Åži el îmi vorbise mie mai îndelung ÅŸi mai dureros decât oricine.

Era norocoas? c? se afla acolo, pentru c? el era singurul b?rbat de pe p?mânt. CeilalÈ›i erau doar figurine de lut cu încheieturi urâte ÅŸi g?urele ca de ac în loc de ochi ÅŸi cu inimi de carne. El era singurul viu cu adev?rat.

Remote villages and communities have lost their identity, and their peace and charm have been sacrificed to that worst of abominations, the automobile.

Waste persons are those no longer useful as resources to a society for whatever reason, and have become apatrides, or noncitizens. Waste persons must be placed out of view-in ghettos, slums, reservations, camps, retirement villages, mass graves, remote territories, strategic hamlets-all places of desolation, and uninhabitable. We live in a century whose Master Players have created many millions of such "superfluous persons" (Rubenstein).

Thus, the theatricality of machinery: Such movement is but a change of scenes. If effective, the machinery will see to it that we remain untouched by the elements, by other travelers, by those whose towns or lives we are traveling through. We can see without being seen, move without being touched.

So this is a fundamental problem, being out of a loop that I don't even believe in.

I don't think I'd like it if people liked me, I'd think that something had gone wrong.

If you get lonesome enough, Carrie knew, you'll even call the police.

Just like I was hooked the first time I worked a homicide. I knew then that I was different from everyone else, set apart from the concerns of everydy life that swept everyone else forward, on a river of errands, work, dates, drinking, eating, and sleeping. I was going in a different direction, toward revelation and retribution, and here were damn few of us headed that way.

a little run in the sheer black of the universe

The enclosed space trapped her anxiety, amplifying her fear.

You mentioned you had a connection to Antarctica." "I once lived there, but it's been a while. My mom, stepdad, and sister are still there . . . near McMurdo Station.

There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.

The nurse of full-grown souls is solitude.

The mind can weave itself warmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts, and dwell a hermit anywhere.

Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!

You are not alone. You are instead lonely. There is loneliness as can exist only in the midst of numbers and numbers of people who don't know you, who don't care about you, who won't let you care about them.

I once read a story by this guy named Harlan Ellison ending: That night it rained, everywhere in the known universe. I was never too sure what the ending meant in terms of Ellison's story, but anyone who sits alone in a motel room for hours, watching the rain wash the world away, begins to understand. Knows what it feels like.

You're an unpopular man. Memorable-but remarkably unpopular. You have no friends, for instance, in Brooklyn. Around Henry Street, say, where old women sit on the stoops in their aprons and men play dominoes on cardtables by the curb.

Fine's a town I don't even visit anymore.

Drug addicts are so funny that way. Just spinning around, lost in their own little world. Doing so much, accomplishing so little.

There are people who have too much space between their ears, and given the time, do nothing but free fall forever inside their head. It's a spooky thing to be left alone inside an angry innerverse.

Drug addicts are so funny that way. Just spinning around, lost in their own little world. Doing so much, accomplishing so little. How sad.

It's a spooky thing to be left alone inside an angry innerverse.