Quotes About Isolation

A few days later it was the turn of the "Caviar" of the class. Three boys, Reutter, Müller and Frank, were known by this sobriquet because they kept strictly to themselves in the belief that they, and they alone among us, were destined to make their mark in the world.

I was alone before you came and would be still more alone if you threw me over, but I can't bear the idea of your being too ashamed of me to introduce me to your parents.

down outside." Bourne wasn't alone for long in the hut; he was putting away his mess-tin and knife when Sergeant Tozer came in and noted the

I feel myself alien from everyone; that is my kind of Jewishness.

Whenever I think of the man I was in those days, cutting across the nat-cropped grass of the campus, burdened down by the weight of the books in which I sought the consolation of other men's grief, and aburdened futher by the large weight of my own bitterness, the whole vision seems a nightmare. There were girls all about me, so near and yet so out of reach, a pastel nightmare of honey-blond, pink-lipped, golden-legged, lemon-sweatered girls

sensed the insignificance of himself and the impertinent smallness of the boat, the loneliness that the sea can inspire. Those alone who have journeyed on the sea and in the sky, or across the great snows or over desert sands, know the feeling. All are vast, merciless, but most awesome of all is the sea, because it moves.

No. We never have read a line of Tolstoy. We studiously avoid doing so.

From the day when battery-run voices began broadcasting old speeches to battery-run listeners, the beast has been talking to itself. Having swallowed everyone and everything outside itself, the beast becomes its own sole frame of reference. It entertains itself, exploits itself and wars on itself. It has reached the end of its Progress, for there is nothing left for it to progress against except itself.

Sometimes I feel I have nothing in common with anyone. I shamble through the day, […] and each new hour with each new person is a cliff I can't climb —

Like many my age, I have left for the mainland. Who is left to watch for the weather and to judge the tides, to buain the peats and gather the crotal, to walk up the high hill and run over the white sand? Here are the faces that know. They know that while I may perceive opportunity to lie further and further away, my heart and soul will always be that of a Hearach.

I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.

This is how it feels to be in this broken female body. This is how it feels to be alone... This is how it feels to be me. I dare you to look...and once you look, I'm going to make sure you cannot look away.

The first great thing is to find yourself and for that you need solitude and contemplation - at least sometimes. I can tell you deliverance will not come from the rushing noisy centers of civilization. It will come from the lonely places.

Ah, where will I findFlowers, come winter,And where the sunshineAnd shade of the earth?Walls stand coldAnd speechless, in the windThe weathervanes creak.

For our generation walks as in Hades, without the divine.

To live alone one must be a beast or a god, says Aristotle. Leaving out the third case: one must be both - a philosopher.

An aphorism ought to be entirely isolated from the surrounding world like a little work of art and complete in itself like a hedgehog.

People imagine enlightenment will make them incredibly powerful, And it does. It makes you the most powerful being in all the universe- but usually no one else notices.

Maybe to exist as a thing separate from other things is itself pain.

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I'm one of them.

Growing up it all seems so one-sided Opinions all provided The future pre-decided Detached and subdivided In the mass production zone Nowhere is the dreamer Or the misfit so alone

Pride, she thought drearily, was a cold bedfellow.

What sorrow is like to the sorrow of one who is alone?

Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.