Quotes About Isolation

My EP, 'Room 93,' was all about isolation - it was based on the idea of being in a hotel room and being totally alone with yourself or that other person.

I've grown over the years and I know how to adapt to situations, where I can go into a situation where there's a crowd of people and just take over. But pretty much I'm off to myself. And I'm totally committed to the game of football. That's why I've had so much success.

What is 'cool,' anyway? Maybe it's Warne Marsh, almost totally obscure and penniless, coming in late to a fourth-rate Hollywood nightclub, playing like an angel with a couple of sidemen, but never speaking to or even acknowledging another human being.

My view is that to get anywhere in life you have to be anti-social. Otherwise you'll end up being devoured.

There's nothing better than belonging to a great group of friends and nothing worse than feeling like an outcast. Friends are important but should never become your center.

It was a terrible time, because Lindsey and I just couldn't understand how we could sing a beautiful song to you and nobody liked it and it was so pretty it made me cry. It was like: we don't belong here. Nobody understands us.

Betrayed by men he trusted, Tesla found himself unemployed and in desperate need of work to survive.

Despite receiving over 800 patents in his lifetime, and quite literally inventing the twentieth century, he died penniless and alone.

Between themselves and the weak the strong build walls, fearing that the weak will learn of their own strength. So it is that the poor are shut out into the wide world with all of its uncertainty but also with all of its purity and beauty. Whose palace garden compares to the wild perfection of the mountain meadows? So, thinking to shut out the poor and the weak, the strong succeed only in walling themselves in. Such is the nature of illusion.

When you have fallen by the road side, the media do not offer a helping hand

xxx each of us carries his or her own solitude. We are invisible and we cannot be touched.

The Skinned Man had nothing anymore.No life, no love, no hope, no regret--just a body. Dismantled man.

Like Riina, my people have been cast out and ostracized from the place in which we feel we belong. It almost killed us, but as have many others in such situations, we found our own way to survive.

And he is about seventy, very dignifed, unwell, and mad. Yes, he is mad. That is to say, psychotic, and I see from his file that he unfortunately was found years ago sheltering in a schoolyard, under a seat, with three dead dogs tied to his leg, which he was dragging about with him. But as I spoke to him, all I could feel was love. That was ridiculous. And I am deeply, deeply suspicious of it.

my mother's wits were now in an attic of her head which had neither door nor stair, or at least none that I could find.

I had no desire to be seen by anyone, or talk to anyone. Sometimes out walking I would be in such a peculiar state of mind that I would rush home at the merest hint of another person.

I knew, I knew any proper, decent life was over. The word of a man like that was like a death sentence . . . I had known it all along, but it is a very different matter to know your sentence, and then to hear it spoken by your judge . . . Truest of all things, there was no one to help me, no one to stand at my side.

I cannot hardly speak to myself let alone to him. I feel the world is against me and at the same time I feel miserably at odds with everything. I have the awkward sense that if I open my mouth people will know me for the villain I am. At the same time, or in the next breath, tears keep surging up into my eyes, tears of some righteousness, because my mind keeps rising to righteousness. All in all I am like a ragged wind in a tangled hedge.

The burden of getting older was borne alone

He was shivering like a Wicklow sheepdog in a snowy yard, though the weather was officially 'clement'. The first layer of clothing was his jacket, the second his shirt, the third his long-johns, the fourth his share of lice, the fifth his share of fear.

What he must have suffered, in his lovely English privacy.

I am clearly content to be beyond help.

What would have comforted that writhing woman in a lost bed in the lost land of Strandhill I do not know. If I were a horse they would have shot me out of mercy.

They stood there two feet apart in all that vale of tears, one man asking another how he was, the other asking how the other was, the one not knowing truly what the world was, the other not knowing either. One nodded to the other now in an expression of understanding without understanding, of saying without breathing a word. And the other nodded back to the other, knowing nothing. Not this new world of terminality and astonishing dismay, of extremity of ruin and exaggeration of misery.