Quotes About Isolation

In short, everything about his life was different for him at the bottom of that well.

Years later, I still wanted to give up friends, love, starry skies, fora house where no one was home, no one coming back, and all I could drink.

You sound like a nice man," the woman said. "Do I? Well, that's nice of you to say." He knew he should hang up now, but it was good to hear a voice, even his own, in the quiet room.

I don't want to talk to anybody. Actually, I'd talk to Molly, if I could, but I can't any longer — she's somebody else now. She isn't Molly any more. But — what can I say? — I'm somebody else, too.

So much water so close to home.

years later, I still wanted to give up friend, love, starry skies, for a house where no one was home, no one coming back, and all I could drink.

My Crow A crow flew into the tree outside my window. It was not Ted Hughes's crow, or Galway's crow. Or Frost's, Pasternak's, or Lorca's crow. Or one of Homer's crows, stuffed with gore, after the battle. This was just a crow. That never fit in anywhere in its life, or did anything worth mentioning. It sat there on the branch for a few minutes. Then picked up and flew beautifully out of my life.

Maybe I can quit drinking one of these days. They all say that, don't they? It takes about three years. Three years? He looked shocked. Usually it does. It's a different world. You have to get used to a paler set of colors, a quieter lot of sounds. You have to allow for relapses. All the people you used to know well will get to be just a little strange. You won't even like most of them, and they won't like you too well.

He turned and walked across the floor and out. I watched the door close. I listened to his steps going away down the imitation marble corridor. After a while they got faint, then they got silent. I kept on listening anyway.

I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets.

Then there were no more houses, just the burnt foothills and the cement ribbon and a sheer drop on the left into the coolness of a nameless canyon, and on the right heat bouncing off the seared clay bank at whose edge a few unbeatable wild flowers clawed and hung on like naughty children who won't go to bed.

I was in the deep water. It was dark and unclear and the taste of the salt was in my mouth.

Maybe we all get like this in the cold half-lit world where always the wrong thing happens and never the right.

I was as hollow and empty as the spaces between the stars.

You're not human tonight, Marlowe.

I went down to the lobby and slipped the catch and then took a shower and put my pajamas on and lay down on the bed. I could have slept for a week. I dragged myself up off the bed again and set the catch on the door, which I had forgotten to do, and walked through a deep hard snowdrift out to the kitchenette and laid out glasses and a bottle of liqueur Scotch I had been saving for a really high-class seduction.

I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets.

Overhead the rain still pounded, with a remote sound, as if it was somebody else's rain.

I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets. I

You like it in jail? It's not too bad. You don't meet the best people, but who the hell wants to?

This was the time to leave, to go far away. So I pushed the door open and stepped quietly in.

You like it in jail? It's not too bad. You don't meet the best people, but who the hell wants to?

Wherever I went, whatever I did, this was what I would come back to. A blank wall in a meaningless room in a meaningless house.

I went back to my car again and sat and sat. The top dripped on my knees and my stomach burned from the whiskey. No more cars came up the hill. No lights went on in the house before which I was parked. It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.