Quotes About Isolation

There's this idea of a star, and this person is very aloof and writes all the music, and they don't talk to anyone unless they go through the record label. And I always felt very uncomfortable about that.

I'm the girl that writes feverishly in my tiny trailer on set.

Painting and writing are solitary arts.

Early on, if I was alone two three nights in a row, I'd start writing poems about suicide.

It helps to be able to be alone. 'Cuz writing is done alone, unless you collaborate, but I don't do that. Ask my ex-wife.

When I'm writing, I like to seal everything off and face the wall, not to look outside the window. The only way out is through the sentences.

Sorrow has a name, and its name is loneliness. Sorrow has a shape, and its shape is absence. Sorrow is a sickness like any other.

Listen, we're all trapped in our own lives. You, me, everyone we've ever met.

This is what it feels like to be a piece of shit, thought Brrr; being pummeled on all sides by the world, forced forward, outward, into naked stink and light.

We don't get an endless number of orbits away from the place where meaning first arises, that treasure-house of first experiences. What we learn, instead, is that our adventures secure us in our isolation. Experience revokes our license to return to simpler times. Sooner or later, there's no place remotely like home.

Y allí se quedó la vieja y malvada Bruja, durante mucho, muchísimo tiempo. —¿Ha salido alguna vez? —Todavía no.

The only home for an exile is exile.

She seems to float in a life next to ours, with limited contact.

Keep in mind that to avoid loneliness, many people need both a social circle and an intimate attachment. Having just one of two may still leave you feeling lonely.

A day goes by. Every shiver of grass counts. The shallows and dapples in air that give grass life are like water. The bobcat returns nightly. During easy jags of sleep the dog's dream-paws chase coyotes. I ride to the sheep. Empty sky, an absolute blue. Empty heart. Sunburned face blotches brown. Another layer of skin to peel, to meet myself again in the mirror. A plane passes overhead—probably the government trapper. I'm waving hello, but he speeds away.

Everything in your world has vanished. You have no money, no job, and no hope of finding one. That's how it is for thousands of people here. Please don't forget that feeling.

He had the vanity to believe men did not like him – while men simply did not know him.

for her, life was as cold as an attic with a window looking to the north, and ennui, like a spider, was silently spinning its shadowy web in every cranny of her heart.

I have always tried to live in an ivory tower, but a tide of shit is beating at its walls, threatening to undermine it.

For a long time now my heart has had its shutters closed, its steps deserted, formerly a tumultuous hotel, but now empty and echoing like a great empty tomb.

Having no intercourse with anyone, she lived in the torpid state of a sleep-walker.

Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!

But her life was as cold as an attic facing north; and boredom, like a silent spider, was weaving its web in the shadows, in every corner of her heart.

But she—her life was cold as a garret whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.