Quotes About Isolation

My hours are married to shadow. No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel On the blank stones of the landing.

and in bed in bed in bed.

have deserted french

It is the strangers that are easiest to love at this hard time. Because they do not demand and watch, always watch. I

There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone. There is an off-focus light cast by the moon, and the streetlights are part of the spotlight apparatus on a bare stage set up for you to walk through. You get a feeling of being listened to, so you talk aloud, softly, to see how it sounds:

If you only knew how the veils were killing my days. To you they are only transparencies, clear air.

we overheard one girl say to another: "Betsy is depressed today." It seems almost an incredible relief to know that there is someone outside oneself who is not happy all the time. We must be at low ebb when we are this far into the black: that everyone else, merely because they are "other", is invulnerable. That is a damn lie.

I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing.

And get this, I'm with you. Don't stop talking to me, please. It's as important as if we were the only people alive . . . .

Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack.

I am too pure for you or anyone.

Durumun ne kadar umutsuzsa, seni o kadar uzaÄŸa saklamaya çal???rlar.

Hell is oneself, Hell is alone.

Descend lower, descend only Into the world of perpetual solitude, World not world, but that which is not world, Internal darkness, deprivation And destitution of all property, Desiccation of the world of sense, Evacuation of the world of fancy, Inoperancy of the world of spirit;

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant

The husk of a man in the woods below me bled into a creek that fed into a river that sparkled gaily in the winter sun.

We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

I can connect Nothing with nothing

Television is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome.

There was a door And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle. Why could I not walk out of my prison? What is hell? Hell is oneself, Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to Escape to. One is always alone.

Every street lamp that I pass Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.