Quotes About Isolation

I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybodyOutside of a small circle of friends.

How long could she be expected to stay in a remote elbow of the Welsh border, where the idea of an eligible batchelor was a man with two tractors?

Richard took to putting crime-scene photographs on the walls of his cell, using soap and toothpaste as glue. He'd gotten the photographs, which were part of the discovery, from Daniel Hernandez.

The closer he drew toward Satan, the more estranged he became from society, as well as his parents. Richard began to conceive of Satan as a friend, an ally he could be himself with, share his inner thoughts with, and not be judged by.

Richard wrote back: Dear Sean: Stay in touch and hit 'em again. Richard Ramirez, 666. Penn said Ramirez masturbated excessively. "He was like an animal in heat. He had pictures of his victims on his cell walls. He kept them up with toothpaste.

Richard, aside from hanging out with Mike, became a loner. He didn't trust people or like them particularly. He perceived society as unfair, vicious, and hostile.

That night she again slept in the back of her brother's car, hidden under her raincoat, afraid of the rats, of the police, and of men who got their kicks from hurting women. Ruth knew it was a cruel world filled with people who were capable of terrible things.

conditions that make us feel anonymous, when we think that others do not know us or care to, can foster antisocial, self-interested behaviors. My

A twisted sort of shyness has evolved as the digital self becomes less and less like the real-life operator. The ego is the playmaker; the character is the observer, as the external world shrinks to the size of Billy's bedroom.

Programmers are isolated. They sit in their cubicle; they don't think about the larger picture. To my mind, a programmer is not an engineer, because an engineer is somebody who starts with a social problem that an organization or a society has and says, "OK, here's this problem that we have- how can we solve it?" The engineer comes up with a clever, cost-effective solution to address that problem, builds it, tests it to make sure it solves the problem. That's engineering.

A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.

I never felt like that before. Maybe it could be depression, like you get. I can understand how you suffer now when you're depressed; I always thought you liked it and I thought you could have snapped yourself out any time, if not alone then by means of the mood organ. But when you get that depressed you don't care. Apathy, because you've lost a sense of worth. It doesn't matter whether you feel better because you have no worth.

I'd been alone for so long that I started talking to the radio. At least I assumed that's where the voices were coming from. In the country that produced Luther, Nietzsche, and Adolf Hitler, you can never be absolutely sure about these things.

No wonder Van Gogh cut his ear off, I thought; there's nothing else to do in a place like this but cut your ear off.

Depression hangs over me as if I were Iceland.

The poetic impulse is distinct from ideas about things or feelings about things, though it may use these. It's more like a desire to separate a piece of one's experience & set it up on its own, an isolated object never to trouble you again, at least not for a bit. In the absence of this impulse nothing stirs.

Only the young can be alone freely. The time is shorter now for company, And sitting by a lamp more often brings Not peace, but other things.

Ought we to smile / Perhaps make friends? No: in the race for seats / You're best alone. Friendship is not worth while.

Caught in the center of a soundless field While hot inexplicable hours go by What trap is this? Where were its teeth concealed? You seem to ask. I make a sharp reply, Then clean my stick. I'm glad I can't explain Just in what jaws you were to suppurate: You may have thought things would come right again If you could only keep quite still and wait.

The sight of the money depressed her, because in such small familiar things the foreign country around her was best expressed.

Viciously, then, I lock my door. The gas-fire breathes. The wind outside Ushers in evening rain. Once more Uncontradicting solitude Supports me on its giant palm; And like a sea-anemone Or simple snail, there cautiously Unfolds, emerges, what I am.

At this unique distance from isolation it becomes still more difficult to find words at once true and kind, or not untrue and not unkind.

How strange it is For the heart to be loveless, and as cold as these.

To be alone then, hearing only breeze, your own breath rising to answer with words you didn't know you knew the pale questions of the full moon, to know for the first time you are without a name or number.