Quotes About Loneliness

They now have sensed him coming The forest and the wood-wind Father mountain makes him welcome with his song. They have no fear of Little Tree They know his heart is kindness And they sing, 'Little tree is not alone.' Even

What a fool she was ever to have imagined that there might be some place in the world where she could sink to the earth with the knowledge that there were people round her who understood, who perhaps even admired and loved her! She was fated to carry loneliness about with her as a leper carries his scabs. 'No one can do anything for me: no one can do anything against me.

Most men resemble great deserted palaces: the owner occupies only a few rooms and has closed off wings where he never ventures.

People never like me and I never like people

People never like me and I never like people, she thought. And I never can talk as the Crawford children could. They were always talking and laughing and making noises.

She had begun to wonder why she had never seemed to belong to anyone

People never like me and I never like people,' she thought. 'And I never can talk as the other children could. They were always talking and laughing and making noises.

I wish I was friends with things, he said at last, but I'm not. I never had anything to be friends with, and I can't bear people.

The mere fact that Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem a little worse-just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more desolate after visitors come and go, leaving them behind.

I'm lonely, she said. She had not known before that this was one of the things which made her feel sour and cross.

It's a lonely place. Sometimes it's the loneliest place in the world.

I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat, she mused. Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and scream out, 'Oh, a horrid rat!' I shouldn't like people to scream and jump and say, 'Oh, a horrid Sara!' the moment they saw me. And set traps for me, and pretend they were dinner.

It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked—a house on the edge of a moor—whatsoever a moor was—sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray

As she stood on the stone floor she looked a very small, odd little black figure, and she felt as small and lost and odd as she looked.

So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also.

I've stolen a garden. It isn't mine, it isn't anybody's. Nobody wants it, nobody cares for it, nobody ever goes into it. Perhaps everything is dead in it already, I don't know. I don't care, I don't care. Nobody has any right to take it from me when I care about it and they don't. They're letting it die, all shut in by itsellf!

It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose from her being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her only friend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted to believe, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized with her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer.

When I lie by myself and remember I begin to have pains everywhere and I think of things that make me begin to scream because I hate them so.

Sara put her hand up to her forehead, and her mouth trembled. She spoke as if she were in a dream. And I was at Miss Minchin's all the while, she half whispered. Just on the other side of the wall.

She had no one to talk to; and when she was sent out on errands and walked through the streets, a forlorn little figure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying to hold her hat on when the wind was blowing, and feeling the water soak through her shoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowds hurrying past her made her loneliness greater.

She was lonely and she never knew that this loneliness had made her sour and cross towards others.

She had been a smart, lovely, laughing and lovable thing, full of pleasure in the world, and now she was so stricken and devastated that she seemed set apart in an awful lonely world of her own.

The wife Estelle's stone sinks to the right. The dead here seem really dead, and bone lonely, unlike the graves in Italian cemeteries, bedecked with fresh flowers, red votive lights, and photos of the deceased.

The dead here seem really dead, and bone lonely, unlike the graves in Italian cemeteries, bedecked with fresh flowers, red votive lights, and photos of the deceased. I always imagine that they must rise at night and visit among themselves, the way they used to in the piazza. I did cry over Absalom, Absalom!