Quotes About Loneliness

What will happen to a joke when no one can hear it anymore? How lonely those words will be, when their power is gone. Where will they go? Off to join the stories that can never be told again.

What will happen to a joke when no one can hear it anymore? How lonely those words will be, when their power is gone. Where will they go? Off to join the stories that can never be told again." So now my house is spangled with Post-it notes in another language, as if I were studying for a trip abroad. But I'm not going away, I'm coming home.

Maybe we've all been banished to lonely corners by our obsession with private property. We've accepted banishment even from ourselves when we spend our beautiful, utterly singular lives on making more money, to buy more things that feed but never satisfy. It is the Windigo way that tricks us into believing that belongings will fill our hunger, when it is belonging that we crave.

Nobody likes me," he concluded at the tail end of a ten-minute pity fest. "Can't imagine why," Quinn murmured. I turned my snort of laughter into a fake cough, which was an embarrassingly feeble attempt at subterfuge when you consider the fact that I didn't have any lungs.

He called and asked where she was and she said, "I decided to just come home tonight." "Why?" "Because there was no one to talk to at the bar," she said. "But I'm here." "Exactly," she said. And then she said goodbye. Of

Being a survivor didn't just mean being strong. It meant being lonely. Honestly, truly lonely. Knowing things other people weren't supposed to know. Carrying memories I was desperate to forget and yet still couldn't blank out of my head.

Maybe Stoney has a thing for strays. Or maybe, like most bartenders, he recognizes a lost soul when he sees one.

she was only here because she didn't have the guts to be anywhere else. Because she felt like the last guest at an unsuccessful party, too guilt-ridden to leave.

She'd been acting the role of the scary woman for years because deep down inside she was scared. Scared of being alone. Scared that she'd had all her chances at happiness and blown each and every one of them.

Yes. He knows I'm dying, but he can't really accept it and he'll be all alone when I'm gone. Can't you help him?

She remained standing in the empty gallery long after Jack had been

gestured to an empty chair

I was a haenyeo—independent and resilient—but I'd missed my husband.

I imagined my first night alone in bed with my stranger. I conjured our future years together unhampered by worries about money or officialdom. We would enjoy the day, the night, a smile, a word, a kiss, a glance. All lovely thoughts. All pointless dreams.

I couldn't leave there  without carrying some of her sadness and loneliness with me like a cloak. There was a smell that I've come to think of as life rot. Where a life has spoiled, gone bad through lack of use.

She could push inside or walk away. She could force a conversation, which might turn into a fight. Or just let him come to her when he was ready. She hesitated a moment, conflicted. Then she opted for the latter, moving quietly down the stairs, feeling that strange loneliness again. Uselessness, she thought, was the permanent condition of parenthood.

The confusing lesson whipped Frankie's anger into something she had never felt before. It was like an emotional meringue - the airy feeling of loneliness topped with the hard crisp of injustice. Yet its taste was far from sweet.

O Hathor," Cleo began, "why bless me with an abundance of gorgeousness and then deprive me of people to envy it? Especially on a Saturday night?

With no one to share it with, success would be just another reminder that she was alone.

It's a ground floor apartment in the old part of Hadport. I don't see much of Mrs. Zarnac, who lives upstairs. Lonely-looking older men visit her, And when she cooks for them vinegar smells waft down. Crosses my mind he might be pickling them alive, one after another, for some dark embalming project.

He hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself smaller in the seat. He wanted to disappear, to fade away, not to exist.

It's hard to give up the being together with someone.

They have never known pain, he thought. The realization made him feel desperately lonely.

The worse part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.