Quotes About Loneliness

The explanation, I suppose, is that the physical distance between people has nothing to do with loneliness. It's psychic distance, and in Montana and Idaho the physical distances are big but the psychic distances between people are small, and here it's reversed.

There are those nights wehn you're pushing thirty and life seems over. When you feel like you'll never tie up any ends and no one iwll ever kiss your lips again.

He thought of night coming on. He thought of the loneliness of tonight, this first night in the ground. This, he thought, was the moment when the dead must first feel truly alone. This was the moment when the dead, in loneliness, feel the first stirrings of the long penance of decay. This was the moment when the dead realize the truth: This is it, it will never be different. To be dead, he thought, that was to know that nothing would ever be different.

The wind would come down a thousand miles and pound on the house and the sash would rattle and inside him something would be big and coiling slow and clotting till he would hold his breath and the blood would beat in his head with a hollow sound as though his head were a cave as big as the dark outside. He wouldn't have any name for what was big inside him. Maybe there isn't any name.

my mom felt more and more alone with no one to turn to.

She had never before minded being alone. Now she dreaded it. When she was alone now she felt so dreadfully alone.

I feel as if something has been torn suddenly out of my life and left a terrible hole. I feel as if I couldn't be I — as if I must have changed into somebody else and couldn't get used to it. It gives me a horrible lonely, dazed, helpless feeling. It's good to see you again — it seems as if you were a sort of anchor for my drifting soul.

Behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows. It was lonely but not forsaken. It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait. And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided their time.

But the trouble is there aren't any bends in my road. I can see it stretching straight out before me to the sky-line…endless monotony. Oh, does life ever frighten you, Anne, with its blankness…its swarms of cold, uninteresting people?

An hour ago on the sand-shore he has been looking at her as if she were the only being of any importance in the world. And now she was a nobody.

It is sometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by happiness that is not your own

Pride is cold company

Holmes speaks of grief "staining backward" through the pages of life; but Valancy found her happiness had stained backward likewise and flooded with rose-colour her whole previous drab existence. She found it hard to believe that she had ever been lonely and unhappy and afraid.

Night is beautiful when you are happy—comforting when you are in grief—terrible when you are lonely and unhappy.

but it is sometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by a happiness that is not your own.

The whitewashed walls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must ache over their own bareness.

What hurt her was that she had never had a chance to be anything but an old maid. No man had ever desired her.

I think you can always tell when a house has been loved. But it's been asleep for so long. And lonely. It always hurts me to see a house lonely.

The moment when a woman realises that she has nothing to live for--neither love, duty, purpose nor hope--holds for her the bitterness of death.

Rachel will be left pretty lonely if anything happens to him, with all her children settled out west, except Eliza in town; and she doesn't like her husband. Marilla's pronouns slandered Eliza, who was very fond of her husband.

I feel tired and lonely and discouraged. Patience, sad heart. There's eternity. This life is only a cloudy day in what may be a succession of varied lifes.

The girl's beauty and sorrow and loneliness drew her with an irresistible fascination.

But then, no one really got her. No one in the world understood. Hell, if she was honest with herself, not even she understood.

The man was still there. Suddenly forgetting about the snow on the street, he picked up his pace. Ahead was a long, straight, silvery-white road illuminated by the cold glare of street lamps; behind, a detective on a bicycle.