Quotes About Loneliness

Despite my fears and my aching loneliness, I believed without a doubt in a better world, which was adulthood or New York or Paris or love.

When the leaves began to fall, all the visitors were gone, and the whistle from the train passing through Orange gave a long, lonesome, shrill sound as it rolled through without stopping to let off any passengers.

I was lonelier than I should be, for a woman in love, or half in love.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts to-night, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply...

Nobody speaks to me. People fall in love with me, and annoy me and distress me and flatter me and excite me and—and all that sort of thing. But no one speaks to me. I sometimes think that no one can. Can you?

Who's that knocking on my grave and will not let me sleep, a year has one

We move in darkness, solemn and extreme.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

Ebb I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.

There is no shelter in you anywhere.

Y lo peor (en realidad no sé si es lo peor, o es igual de malo que todo lo que llevo escrito hasta acá) es que no tengo con quien hablarlo, y eso me hace sentir solo. Estar enamorado de una mujer y no poder hacer nada al respecto es terrible. Pero estar enamorado de esa mujer y encima tener que callarlo, y hacer como que no pasa nada, y mirar a otra parte cada vez que uno la tiene al otro lado de la mesa y se muere por mirarla...

amor arrebatado que empezaba a consumirlo. Saberse no correspondido, además de infiel, lo hacía sentirse solo. Se dijo que era mejor así. Arrancar de cuajo una planta que, de todos modos, no tenía brotes ni futuro.

Caminó de espaldas hacia la avenida, hacia el lado del río. A los pocos pasos se detuvo, se asustó, y casi se enojó consigo mismo, cuando por encima del rumor de la lluvia y de los autos creyó escuchar un grito que traía su nombre.

A veces uno vive una vida idiota. En una de esas, hasta lo sabe. Sabe que es la vida de un idiota. Pero mientras no haya un testigo, alguien que lo vea, alguien que lo diga, puede pasar, puede seguir.

May your trails be dim, lonesome, stony, narrow, winding and only slightly uphill.

I do love you. I'd be one miserable and lonesome man without you around.

The sensation of freedom was exhilarating, though tinged with a shade of loneliness, a touch of sorrow. The old dream of total independence, beholden to no man and no woman, floated above his days like smoke from a pipe dream, like a silver cloud with a dark lining. For even Hayduke sensed, when he faced the thing directly, that the total loner would go insane. Was insane. Somewhere in the depths of solitude, beyond wildness and freedom, lay the trap of madness.

Eyes blurred, she drove away. Alone, buzzing down the asphalt trail to Kayenta, heart beating, her pistons leaping madly up and down, Bonnie Abbzug relapsed into the sweet luxury of tears. Hard to see the road. She turned on the windshield wipers but that didn't help much.

An under-privileged juniper tree, living not on water and soil but on memory and hope. And almost alone. To the

No one listened to the music, no one cared, drunk or sober; the noise was not meant for entertainment but for the sustaining of a certain psychological atmosphere, the pervasion of space, the dispersal of unseemly silences. So that a man without anything to say and unable to think could still imagine himself at the vortex of an activity, however meaningless.

I had not been stranded upon the shore of this strange world to find myself alone and companionless.

Punctuality is a virtue, If you don't mind being lonely.

Though we longed not to be lonely, we also feared the pain it would take us to be brought out of our lonely states. And after that fear, could we be guaranteed that we would never be returned to a state of loneliness again? We could not.

Per questo, nel giorno della maniglia perduta, indugiavo con la faccia accostata alla finestra rotta, fantasticando su tutta quella gente dall'altro lato dei cumuli, chiedendomi se sarei mai riuscito a spingermi fino alla città laggiù, Forlichingham, a Londra, immaginando che ci fosse qualcuno dietro tutta quella gente, qualcuno che potesse apprezzarmi. «C'è qualcuno,» sussurrai, «c'è qualcuno lì? Chi sei? Come sei fatto?»