Quotes About Isolation

Oh we're not loved. We're not even hated. We're only just sweetly ignored.

An unknown man in a lonely place is a permitted object of fear to a young woman privately bred.

The chief impression produced on Isabel's spirit by this criticism, was that the passion of love separated its victim terribly from everyone but the loved object

I think I could die without its being noticed.

There was a sort of spell in the sense that nobody in the world knew where she was. It was the first time in her life that this had happened; somebody, everybody appeared to have known before, at every instant of it, where she was; so that she was now suddenly able to put it to herself that that hadn't been a life.

I adore a moat,' said Isabel. 'Good-bye.

We were cut off, really, together; we were united in our danger.

I'm a survivor—a survivor of a general wreck . . . everyone else has gone . . . I'm all that's left.

I see you want us all to go. I don't know what you want to do. I want to be alone, said Isabel.

Mrs. Gotch a wide berth—I couldn't talk to them.  I could

Well, if you love me intensely let me as intensely alone.

Your desire is to escape everything? Everything.

Existía un secreto en Bly… quizá un familiar inmencionable recluido en un insospechado confinamiento?

To live in such a place was, for Isabel, to hold to her ear all day a shell of the sea of the past. This vague eternal rumor kept her imagination awake.

Oh dear, I'm quite alone, I've nothing on earth to do.

Agreeable in the sense of floating there in infinite isolation and leisure that it was.

There were immensities between you.

You've not only dried up my tears; you've dried up my soul.

strolled down the hill without meeting a creature, though I could see through the palings of the Common that that recreative expanse was peopled with dim forms.  I remembered Mrs. Nettlepoint's house—she lived in those days (they

It had freely been noted for him that he might be received as a dog among skittles, but that was on the basis of the old quantity.

nobody in the house but the governess was in the governess's plight;

he had never been alone with a jeune fille. It was a great moment; poor Rosier began to pat his forehead again. There was another room beyond the one in which they stood—a small room that had been thrown open and lighted, but that, the company not being numerous, had remained empty all the evening. It was empty yet; it was upholstered in pale yellow; there were several lamps; through the open door it looked the very temple of authorised love.

Words are loneliness.

An artist is always alone - if he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness.