Quotes About Isolation

You talk of freedom — I've never had it! I've been lonely and miserable and in despair, and you want me to consent to all that all over again!

Lucas hated other people, and also hated himself.

I hate solitude, but I am afraid of intimacy. The substance of my life is a private conversation with myself which to turn into a dialogue would be equivalent to self-destruction.

I must have been assuming that without me there it would be all cobwebs and desolation.

Please excuse this outpouring which perhaps makes no sense but is the utter darkness of my spirit pouring from me like black blood.

And so my life has become tiny and mean and incomplete and I must begin it again without comfort and without magic.

Desperate for help, living his life now as a hideous dream, he had told nobody.

As for me — there is another partner waiting for me, a teacher whom I knew long ago — his name is solitude. I am glad to be back here among my English friends . . . But I shall come back here to an empty flat and close the door, and I shall lean back against the door, as I recall I used to when I was young, and breathe deeply and feel the deep relief and liberation of coming home to solitude, coming home to myself .

He lay on his back listening to his mother's quiet snoring and thinking how increasingly awful his life was becoming. It was as if he were being squeezed out of the world.

Ludens felt that everyone around him was living in the present, a place where he certainly could not live.

You don't know what it's like to be me, you don't know what it's like to be all tattered and destroyed inside.

She shivered in the sunlight as if it were the ray of a malignant star.

I can't tell you—oh I can't tell you—how awful—how sort of unlivable—everything is now—like a great black wall in front of me—Something's got to smash.

She thought, I am becoming a recluse. Yes, that's it, that is the way.

The bereaved cannot communicate with the unbereaved.

Look Moy, see the chimneys, they've lit all the fires, they must have known we were going to try to drown ourselves. And Anax is running on ahead to bring the news.

Getting through time was rather the problem. The cry of 'Help me!' — but there was no one there.

I'm not like other people, my life just doesn't work, it never has.

I'm as lonely as a lunatic.

solitary sinister men with terrible secrets — of whom Clement now and forever after must be one.

He felt removed from reality.

She thought, perhaps I am simply mad. It will grow worse. That will be my life.

A letter is a barrier, a reprieve, a charm against the world, an almost infallible method of acting at a distance.

The wound with which she travelled vibrated within her. She thought, I shall never have what I desire. I shall become bitter and defeated and dim, and I shall never really paint, I am a freak, a crippled animal, something to be put down, put to sleep, put out of its misery.