Quotes About Isolation

Nothing. Nothing makes me happy. I like nothing, I tell her.

There is music playing somewhere but I can't hear it.

My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone.

A vast and abandoned world laid out in anonymous grids and quadrants, a view that confirmed you were much more alone than you thought you were, a view that inspired the flickering thoughts of suicide.

While walking back to the highway I stop, choke back a sob, my throat tightens. I just want to... Facing the skyline, through all the baby talk, I murmur, keep the game going. As I stand, frozen in position, an old woman emerges behind a Threepenny Opera poster at a deserted bus stop and she's homeless and begging, hobbling over, her face covered with sores that look like bugs, holding out a shaking red hand. Oh will you please go away? I sigh. She tells me to get a haircut.

You can disappear here without knowing it.

How could she ever understand that there isn't any way I could be disappointed since I no longer find anything worth looking forward to?

The Patty Winters Shows were all repeats. Life remained a blank canvas, a cliche, a soap opera. I felt lethal, on the verge of frenzy. My nightly bloodlust overflowed into my days and I had to leave the city. My mask of sanity was a victim of impending slippage. This was bone season for me and I needed a vacation. I needed to go to the Hamptons.

and like in a movie I appear in front of the D'Agostino's, sale's clerks beckoning for me to enter, and I'm using an expired coupon for a box of oat-bran cereal and the girl at the checkout counter--black, dumb,slow-- doesn't get it, doesn't notice the expiration date has passed even though it's the only thing I buy, and I get a small but incendiary thrill when I walk out of the store, opening the box, stuffing handfuls of the cereal into my mouth, trying to whistle Hips to Be Square.

It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care. Yeah? I ask. What do you care about? What makes you happy? Nothing. Nothing make me happy. I like nothing.

Walking with Debbie, our sunglasses on, I suddenly felt I was a model in a commercial, we were a couple in a travelogue who barely knew each other, which led to the notion that I was actually begin watched, that everyone was looking at me, whether they were or not, or that someone hidden, from a vantage point I couldn't see, was monitoring my movements.

The Patty Winters Show this morning was about people with half their brains removed. My chest feels like ice.

When I flush the toilet in my bathroom, it becomes stopped up with Kleenex, and blood clouds the water and I put down the lid, because there's nothing else for me to do.

I'm having a sort of hard time paying attention because my automated teller has started speaking to me, sometimes actually leaving weird messages on the screen, in green lettering, like "Cause a Terrible Scene at Sotheby's" or "Kill the President" or "Feed Me a Stray Cat," and I was freaked out by the park bench that followed me for six blocks last Monday evening and it too spoke to me. Disintegration—I'm taking it in stride.

I've started drinking my own urine. I laugh spontaneously at nothing. Sometimes I sleep under my futon. I'm flossing my teeth constantly until my gums are aching and my mouth tastes like blood.

The seeds of love have taken hold and if we won't burn together I'll burn alone.

How easy it would be to scare the living wits out of this fucking guy. Kimball is utterly unaware of how truly vacant I am. There is no evidence of animate life in this office, yet still he takes notes. By the time you finish reading this sentence, a Boeing jetliner will take off or land somewhere in the world. I would like a Pilsner Urquell.

estaba tan por encima de la ciudad que tenías la impresión de contemplar un mundo enorme y abandonado que se extendía en cuadrículas anónimas, una vista que confirmaba que estabas mucho más solo de lo que creías.

While taking a piss in the men's room, I stare into a thin, web-like crack above the urinal's handle and think to myself that if I were to disappear into that crack, say somehow miniaturize and slip into it, the odds are good that no one would notice I was gone. No … one … would … care.

While taking a piss in the men's room, I stare into a thin, web-like crack above the urinal's handle and think to myself that if I were to disappear into that crack, say somehow miniaturize and slip into it, the odds are good that no one would notice I was gone. No … one … would … care. In fact some, if they noticed my absence, might feel an odd, indefinable sense of relief.

And though the coldness I have always felt leaves me, the numbness doesn't and probably never will. This relationship will probably lead to nothing...this didn't change anything.

Nunca me ha gustado nadie y e da miedo la gente.

I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is saved, nothing is redeemed.

It's a world where getting stoned is the only option.