Quotes About Isolation

Two people can sleep in the same bed and still be alone when they close their eyes.

Why a unicorn? Maybe the unicorn, too, is one of the Men Without Women. I mean, I've never seen a unicorn couple. He -- it has to be a he, right? -- is always alone, sharp horn thrust toward the sky. Maybe we should adopt him as the symbol of Men Without Women, of the loneliness we carry as our burden. Perhaps we should sew unicorn badges on our breast pockets and hats, and quietly parade down streets all over the world. No music, no flags, no ticker tape. Probably.

A regular wind-up toy world this is, I think. Once a day the wind-up bird has to come and wind the springs of this world. Alone in this fun house, only I grow old, a pale softball of death swelling inside me. Yet even as I sleep somewhere between Saturn and Uranus, wind-up birds everywhere are busy at work fulfilling their appointed rounds.

Naturally I have zero friends. I've built a wall around me, never letting anybody inside and trying not to venture outside myself. Who could like someone like that? They all keep an eye on me, but I'm just glad they didn't bother me. They might hate me, or even afraid of me.

April and May were painful, lonely months for me because I couldn't talk to you. I never knew that spring could be so painful and lonely. Better to have three Februaries than a spring like this.

I gazed up at the sky. I was in a tiny boat, on a vast ocean. No wind, no waves, just me floating there. Adrift on the open sea.. ..A tiny boat cut loose from the fiction of the ship.

The world is a metaphor, Kafka Tamura.

A cell is just a room if you don't lock the door.

Well, finally, once you become an orphan, you're an orphan till the day you die. I keep having the same dream. I'm seven years old and an orphan again. All alone, with no adults around to take care of me. It's evening, and the light is fading, and night is pressing in. It's always the same. In the dream I always go back to being seven years old. Software like that you can't exchange once it's contaminated.

I'm safe inside this container called me. With a little click, the outlines of this being—me—fit right inside and are locked neatly away. Just the way I like it. I'm where I belong.

It's not so easy for people to end their own lives. It's not like in the movies. There, they do it like nothing, no pain, and it's all over, they're dead. The reality is not like that. You lie in bed for ten years with the piss oozing out of you.

My only passions were books and music. As you might guess, I led a lonely life.

What I mean to say is probably something like this: any single human being, no matter what kind of person he or she may be, is all caught up in the tentacles of this animal like a giant octopus, and is getting sucked into the darkness. You can put any kind of spin on it you like, but you end up with the same unbearable spectacle.

Porque será que estamos condenados a ser assim tão solitários? Qual a razão de tudo isto? Há tanta gente, tanta gente neste mundo, todos à espera de qualquer coisa uns dos outros e, contudo, todos irremediavelmente afastados. Porquê? Continuará a Terra a girar unicamente para alimentar a solidão dos homens?

There are probably things people are better off not hearing … But they can't go forever without hearing them. When the time comes, even if they stop their ears up tight, the air will vibrate and invade a person's heart. You can't prevent it. If you don't like it, then the only solution is to live in a vacuum.

Cuando la realidad te golpea es como si de pronto, en alta mar, te arrojasen por la borda en plena noche

Nakata's empty inside. I finally understand that. Nakata's like a library without a single book. It wasn't always like that. I used to have books inside me. For a long time I couldn't remember, but now I can. I used to be normal, just like everybody else. But something happened and I ended up like a container with nothing inside.

The world is full of lonely things, but not many could be lonelier than waking up alone in the morning in a love hotel.

The ground we stand on seems solid enough, but if soemthing happens it can drop right out from under you. And once that happens, you've had it: things'll never be the same. All you can do is go on living alone down there in the darkness

Kino pulled the covers up, shut his eyes, and covered his ears with his hands. I'm not going to look, not going to listen, he told himself. But he couldn't drown out the sound. Even if he ran to the far corners of the earth and stuffed his ears full of clay, as long as he was still alive those knocks would relentlessly track him down. It wasn't a knocking on a door in a business hotel. It was a knocking on the door to his heart. A person couldn't escape that sound.

My face, my self, what would they mean to anybody? Just another stiff. So this self of mine passes some other's self on the street — what do we have to say to each other? Hey there! Hi ya! That's about it. Nobody raises a hand. No one turns around to take another look.

Reality is endlessly cold and lonely.

I shouted into the phone, but there was no reply. Silence floated up from the receiver like smoke from the mouth of a gun.

Those people digging around in the refrigerator at 3am, those are the only people I can write for. And that, is me.