Quotes About Loneliness

It wasn't depression, exactly; more a weird, restless pressure that made me wander the house late at night, opening the best bottles of wine in our cellar and drinking them alone while I channel-surfed along the forgotten byways of cable TV.

No one is waiting for me. In this story, I'm the girl no one is waiting for. Usually the girl is fat, but my problem is more rare, which is freckles: I look like someone threw handfuls of mud at my face.

Phoebe burst into tears. For several minutes she stood weeping in the middle of the road, the choking, gulping sobs of childhood. Something was wrong; something was wrong but she didn't know what. She was alone in the middle of nowhere, behaving strangely, with no one around to help her, and what people were around she wanted only to escape.

My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you? Are other people still here, hiding in the palm trees or holding their breath underwater? When did you last swim your laps? Do your bones hurt? Did you know this was coming and hide that you knew, or did it ambush you from behind?

At first I thought he was having a stroke or a heart attack, but then I realized I was seeing pure misery, the kind people only show when they think they're by themselves.

So now I am alone and adrift having no idea where Stella and Iona have gone, and this gives me a fading feeling I get sometimes when I think Stella has forgotten me for good, like I'm a particle floating invisibly through space and I might float so far away that I stop existing even to myself. How will I get back?

After eight years in the same one-bedroom apartment, I was suddenly finding it crowded beyond capacity. There was me. There was my unrecognizable face. And there was someone else. It was neither a child nor an animal. It was Despair.

Sometimes, before coming inside, Eddie would stand in the hall and overhear a festive gaiety from behind the closed door. It always surprised him. Did I imagine that? he would ask himself later. Or had they been easier—happier—without him?

They were open but empty-looking, like the windows of a house no one lived in. At

In this story, I'm the girl no one is waiting for.

Quote from "The Whole World Is Gone" ".... It's sensual, though, too, and interestingly mental. What I do alone, loving him in my mind. Trying not to let imagination win over reality. Hurtling through the night passions so spent become facts one observes. Not tempered, just momentarily out of view by the body that perceives them. Turning that into my prayer: to be deprived.

At a bar addiction is normalized, made to seem a regular part of living: the warm light and familiar faces, friendship or the illusion of it. Addicts are lonely creatures.

The truth is that he doesn't like to move his laptop. In his barren apartment it hums continuously. Evenings, weekends, he spends most hours in front of it. Ambidextrous, he mouses with his left hand and eats dinner with his right.

She lay awake and thought of her mother, gone forever. There was no one else she wanted to tell.

when rejection becomes the norm, I become nothing.

Your friend mourns your losses with you, because they experience them too. The truth is, no matter how lonely you might feel, you're never going through anything alone.

In the end," Callum said, his voice soft, gentle, "it all comes back to you. You protect them [your pack], you love them, you live for them, and someday, you die. That's what it means, Bryn-girl, to be what we are [to be Alpha]. It's lonely. It's impossible. It's all-consuming." It is what it is.

I don't want to be alone," I whispered. The second those words left my mouth, Vivvie flew across the room. She hugged me like hugging was a contact sport.

And then she was gone, disappearing into the nearby stacks like a rabbit taking to its hole, and he was left with a computer he didn't know how to use, words he could barely read, and the knowledge that he wasn't just a killer. Most of the time, he was a pretty poor excuse for a person, too.

Feeling like she really was just seven or eight, Claire sat down on the floor, books all around her, and she opened the last one she'd picked up. Even though it was dark, and even though her eyes couldn't see the words, she knew them. Knew the little prince's story as well as her own. She closed her eyes. She leaned her head forward against the book. And she sobbed.

I stared at him--through the night, through the space between us. He looked away first. I was used to people walking away. I was good at not expecting anything from anyone.

I didn't want to think about anything, so I kissed the boy. This time it wasn't rough or frantic. It was gentle and slow and terrifying and perfect . And for once in my life, I didn't feel alone.

I was everyone's problem and nobody's.

Marriage is full of such cut-and-dry arrangements, Rhonda thought,then felt that small ache she sometimes got at the back of her skull-the one that told her she might be alone forever, not a fate that she chose but rather a fate that seemed to have been chosen for her.