Quotes About Loneliness

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

She rents herself a large, empty apartment on the top floor of a house. She has no long-term plans. At night she listens to the radio and cooks subsistence meals, and cries onto her plate.

What is it that I'll want from you? Not love: that would be too much to ask. Not forgiveness, which isn't yours to bestow. Only a listener, perhaps; only someone who will see me. Don't prettify me though, whatever else you do: I have no wish to be a decorated skull.

Grace and Cordelia and Carol hang around the edges of my life, enticing, jeering, growing paler and paler every day, less and less substantial. I hardly hear them any more because I hardly listen.

Are you an evening bird Watching the moon Singing Alone, Alone, Singing Dead Too Soon?

Every move I make is sodden with unreality. When no one is around, I bite my fingers. I need to feel physical pain, to attach myself to daily life.

I don't want to be left by myself in this room. The walls are too empty, there are no pictures on them nor curtains on the little high-up window, nothing to look at and so you look at the wall, and after you do that for a time, there are pictures on it after all, and red flowers growing.

And it is almost impossible to describe happiness because it is the absence of pain, of loneliness, of despair, yet it is infinitely more than just an absence of anything. It resides in small moments, moments that lose their power in the telling but pin themselves fast to our hearts.

It was not often that she was alone like this and she did not like it. When she was alone she had to think and, these days, thoughts were not so pleasant.

Yes, I want money more than anything else in the world." "Then you've made the only choice. But there's a penalty attached, as there is to most things you want. It's loneliness.

Then you've made the only choice. But there's a penalty attached, as there is to most things you want. It's loneliness.

A frost lay over all her emotions and she thought that she would never feel anything warmly again.

She knew she had changed too, but not as they had changed, and it puzzled her. She sat and watched them and she felt herself an alien among them, as alien and lonely as if she had come from another world, speaking a language they did not understand and she not understanding theirs.

Why, she had never had to do a thing for herself in all her life. There had always been someone to do things for her, to look after her, shelter and protect her and spoil her. It was incredible that she could be in such a fix. Not a friend, not a neighbor to help her. There had always been friends, neighbors, the competent hands of willing slaves. And now in this hour of greatest need, there was no one. It was incredible that she could be so completely alone, and frightened, and far from home.

She could never love anything or anyone so selflessly as they did. What a lonely feeling it was—and she had never been lonely in either body or spirit before.

Ellen was the audience before which the blustering drama of Gerald O'Hara had been played. Now the curtain had been rung down forever, the footlights dimmed and the audience suddenly vanished, while the stunned old actor remained on his empty stage, waiting for his cues.

I think—I think," she began hesitantly, "that I've always been lonely where women were concerned. It isn't just my working that makes Atlanta ladies dislike me. They just don't like me anyway. No woman ever really liked me, except Mother. Even my sisters. I don't know why, but even before the war, even before I married Charlie, ladies didn't seem to approve of anything I did—

And now in this hour of greatest need, there was no one. It was incredible that she could be so completely alone, and frightened, and far from home.

Facebook's new relationship status option: "No longer able to interact with actual people"

Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone.

Technology grows and so does loneliness.

Life without a phone is riskier, lonelier, more vivid.

With technology, there is so much isolation with people now, that there are very few places where you can connect.

Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?