Quotes About Loneliness

ESK?S? G?B? Seneler sürer her günüm, Yaln?z gitmekten yorgunum; Zannetme sana darg?n?m, Ben gene sana vurgunum.

What we don't let out traps us. We think, No one else feels this way, I must be crazy. So we don't say anything. And we become enveloped by a deep loneliness, not knowing where our feelings come from or what to do with them. Why do I feel this way?

Kitaps?z bir ev üzücü olmal?. Daha üzücüsü ise; okuyan? olmayan kitaplarla dolu bir evdir.

A home filled with nothing but yourself. It's heavy, that lightness. It's crushing, that emptiness.

I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.

Nobody dies from the lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.

Home is where the heart is, I thought now, gathering myself together in Betty's Luncheonette. I had no heart any more, it had been broken; or not broken, it simply wasn't there any more. It had been scooped neatly out of me like the yolk from a hard-boiled egg, leaving the rest of me bloodless and congealed and hollow. I'm heartless, I thought. Therefore I'm homeless.

You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter . I want to be with someone.

You can forget who you are if you're alone too much.

You'd be surprised how quickly the mind goes soggy in the absence of other people. One person alone is not a full person: we exist in relation to others. I was one person: I risked becoming no person.

If I thought this would never happen again I would die. But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.

I would never blame a human creature for feeling lonely.

But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.

More and more I feel like a letter—deposited here, collected there. But a letter addressed to no one.

Snowman wakes before dawn.

You can mean more than one. You can mean thousands. I'm not in any immediate danger, I'll say to you. I'll pretend you can hear me. But it's no good, because I know you can't.

There was old sex in the room and loneliness, and expectation, of something without a shape or name. I remember that yearning, and was never the same as the hands that were on us there and then, in the small of the back, or out back, in the parking lot, or in the television room with the sound turned down and only the pictures flickering over lifting flesh. We yearned for the future How did we learn it, that talent for insatiability?

And yes, I know it's you; and that is what we will come to, sooner or later, when it's even darker than It is now, when the snow is colder, when it's darkest and coldest and candles are no longer any use to us and the visibility is zero: Yes. It's still you. It's still you.

I forgave her, of course. I always did; I had to, because there were only the two of us. The two of us on our thorn-encircled island, waiting for rescue; and, on the mainland, everyone else.

Every child should have love, every person should have it. She herself would rather have had her mother's love - the love she still continued to believe in, the love that had followed her through the jungle in the form of a bird so she would not be too frightened or lonely.

They seem close, the stars, but they're far away. Their light is millions, billions of years out of date. Messages with no sender.

The threshold of a new house is a lonely place.

It's lack of love we die from.

I feared I might lose my faith. If you've never had a faith, you will not understand what that means. You feel as if your best friend is dying, that everything that defined you is being burned away; that you'll be left all alone.