Quotes About Loneliness

The naturally lonely person does not look for comfort in love, but accepts the variables as due course.

Look beyond your tasseled caps And you will see injustice. At the end of your fingertips You will find cruelties, Irrational hate, bedrock sorrow And terrifying loneliness. There is your work.

Each one of us has lived through some devastation, some loneliness, some weather superstorm or spiritual superstorm, when we look at each other we must say, I understand. I understand how you feel because I have been there myself. We must support each other and empathize with each other because each of us is more alike than we are unalike.

After that exercise, the ship of my life might or might not be sailing on calm seas. The challenging days of my existence might or might not be bright or promising. From that encounter on, whether my days are stormy or sunny and if my nights are glorious or lonely, I maintain an attitude of gratitude. If pessimism insists on occupying my thoughts, I remember there is always tomorrow.

My sorrow at leaving was confined to a gloom at separating from Bailey for a month (we had never been parted), the imagined loneliness of Uncle Willie (he put on a good face, though at thirty-five he'd never been separated from his mother) and the loss of Louise, my first friend. I wouldn't miss Mrs. Flowers, for she had given me her secret word which called forth a djinn who was to serve me all my life: books.

The heavy opulence of Dostoevsky's world was where I had lived forever. The gloomy, lightless interiors, the complex ratiocinations of the characters and their burdensome humors, were as familiar to me as loneliness.

The eggs had withdrawn from the edge of the platter to bunch in the center like children left out in the cold. And the catheads had sat down on themselves with the conclusiveness of a fat woman sitting in an easy chair.

then go to my room where solitude gaped whale-jawed wide to swallow me entire.

He could not make Arkansas fit his soul's desolation.

Autopsy read: dead of acute peoplelessness.

Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the spaces between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. In my rented room (cooking privileges down the hall), I would play a record, then put my arms around the shoulder of the song. As we danced, glued together, I would nuzzle into its neck, kissing the skin, and rubbing its cheek with my own.

The world had ended, and I was the only person who knew it. People walked along the streets as if the pavements hadn't all crumbled beneath their feet.

Her apprehension was evident in the hurried movements around the kitchen and in her lonely fearing eyes. The Black woman in the South who raises sons, grandsons and nephews had her heartstrings tied to a hanging noose. Any break from routine may herald for them unbearable news. For this reason, Southern Blacks until the present generation could be counted among America's arch conservatives.

Oh, Black known and unknown poets, how often have your auctioned pains sustained us? Who will compute the lonely nights made less lonely by your songs, or by the empty pots made less tragic by your tales?

The Traveler Byways and bygone And lone nights long Sun rays and sea waves And star and stone Manless and friendless No cave my home This is my Torture My long nights, lone

Last year changed its seasons subtly, stripped its sultry winds for the reds of dying leaves, let gelid drips of winter ice melt onto a warming earth and urged the dormant bulbs to brave the pain of spring. We, loving, above the whim of time, did not notice. Alone. I remember now.

I want you, Jensen. I've been so lonely and empty without you.

If all people became ghosts my social life would be so over - Suze Simon in the Mediator

So go ahead and make your way Back from the edge of yesterday No one knows what Can't be known 'Cause when you start You're all alone But take enough steps Take enough steps Take enough steps And someday Someday you'll be home ---Heather Wells, Untitled

I don't seem to fit to associate with humans.

On the other hand, if these four-Mr. Graces, the brutish Frank, the mysterious Mr. Liu, and rude little Henry-were the only company John had had for a hundred and sixty-odd years, it explained a lot about his brooding.

Ele parece alguma coisa jogada de um helicóptero: sabe como é, o cara perfeito para uma garota necessitada em uma ilha deserta. A garota sendo eu, e a ilha deserta, a minha vida.

I'm eighteen; I'm a princess; and I'm a virgin. You know what? At this point in my life, I might as well be a unicorn. Happy freaking birthday to me.

After more than one hundred and fifty years of living alone in the darkness, I met you, Susannah, and through you, I met Father Dominic. Everything my mother said in her letter came true. It wasn't the same church, and it wasn't the same priest. But the letter and the ring were there, all because of you. And now I want to give that ring to you.