Quotes About Isolation

The downside of my celebrity is that I cannot go anywhere in the world without being recognized. It is not enough for me to wear dark sunglasses and a wig. The wheelchair gives me away.

What he called his own personal night was about the feeling of being nothing, of having no worth, of having spent himself in a war nobody cared about, and having given up everything that was important and good.

No one knows what it's like to be the bad man. —Peter Townsend, "Behind Blue Eyes

Sure, what should I watch?" he asked. There hadn't been anything on television for months. Every station, save those used by the government, were off the air.

Although I have had offers of wireless installation for the Fram," he said in one rambling interview, "that also I declined. I don't care for it. It is very much better to be without news when you cannot be where the news comes from. We are always more contented if we get no news. A good book we like, we explorers. That is our best amusement and our best time killer.

Something in her expression made Covenant feel that he came from a very poor world, where no one knew or cared about the healing of stoneware pots.

In short, you have all the social prospects of a garden gnome.

The sun rises low - if it rises at all - and hovers close to the horizon, barely skirting the hilltops before losing heart and sinking once more into the icy abyss of night.

Prisons are about addictions. Most prisoners are casualties of their own habits. They have all created victims, some in cruel and callous ways, but almost to a man they have first practiced that cruelty on themselves. Prison provides the loneliness that fuels addiction. It is the slaughterhouse for addicts, and all are eventually delivered to its gates.

It sometimes takes a state of solitude to bring to mind the real power of companionship.

If the great internet connects us all ... then why are so many of us becoming increasingly isolated?

When you're alone is when you can count your friends.

Humans, unlike Jedi, are powerfully afraid of rejection. We do not survive well alone, so humans as a species are especially vulnerable to thoughts that make us afraid the rest of the "tribe" will desert us to die a sad, lonely death.

While amidst the crowd and seeking quieteness in another zone you can still get away from them by homing in on matters within.

Insanity is a very lonely and empty existence - it's painfully true. They may laugh and smile, and skip and dance, but behind all the faces there is hollowness like a bottomless pit. The living dead, depression is a terrible illness, so is psychosis, the mentally inflicted beyond cure.

Mad people are very emotionally orientated! They have complex feelings, they're easily upset, but are also easy to please! Most mad people have lonely lives, as nobody understands them. So they become "Lost Souls." They dream a lot. Go within their minds to search - some will turn strange, become dangerous. So a madman is created! His world becomes a mission.

I thought they were going to kill me there and then, which would have been a relief. To my horror, they spoke words that I will never forget: 'We are going to keep you in the cellar and let our black friends use you and when they have finished with you, we will kill you and bury you under the paving stones of Gloucester. There are hundreds of girls there, the police haven't found them and they wont find you!

What stood in one corner of the cell was disgusting: two empty disinfectant canisters and one well used and well stained piss pot, the sort of chamber pot that people would train their babies to be potty trained on before they would learn to use the toilet.

Suicides - you read of it…but you don't know the truth, if you were to see it you would go insane! Cut throats, cut wrists, hangings, suffocating, eyes bulging and tongues protruding, more shit. Suicides always shit themselves, did you know that! Life's final shit, the final act of madness; smell that you rats! Clean me up you pigs, zip me up in the bag you scum and get me out of here… Get me the fuck out of here…get me out!

Broadmoor creeps into your blood, the walls touch the sky and the grounds suck you in, they've even got their own burial ground. We called it the 'madman's hole', it smelt of fear; a stillness and even the birds seemed to have a stone face like their eyes were made of marble. So many monsters, men of hell, I don't know how a sane man can keep sane in there.

She sat in a secluded room, she was mad, but she could not accept it; so she was neither sane nor insane. She could not be either until she knew herself, so in limbo she must die. She kept stuffing toilet roll into her mouth. They found her choked to death!

From a young boy's viewpoint this could not get any worse, especially when you were told that you belonged to the devil, and this bullying of me went on for a long time.

I know people have swum the 3.5 mile stretch of the Solent from the Isle of Wight to the mainland for charity, and some just for the hell of it in the Cross Solent Swim, but this was at night, in the dark and without the help of a nearby boat to haul me in to safety. I didn't have the benefit of tidal maps, accompanied swimming mates in near perfect conditions or the likes. I only my strength of determination and the beckoning lights on the mainland to aim for.

One lesson I learned from all of this, and that was a hard one, for all of the good I did people, it was never remembered. I was the one doing jail, not them. Apart from a small circle of close loyal friends, I was and am on my own.