Quotes About Loneliness

My lamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the place which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble.

As a sad, grey dawn broke over the hillside he came upon a ruined cottage [named Broken-Heart Farm] which did not so much seem to have broken its heart, as its neck.

But for the rest nothing amused him; nothing satisfied him. All was shadows, emptiness, echoes and dust.

That was the clock striking half-past one o'clock!" said Drawlight suddenly. "How lonely it sounds! Ugh! All the horrid things one reads of in novels always happen just as the church bell tolls or the clock strikes some hour or other in a dark house!

If I leave, then the House will have no Inhabitant and how will I bear the thought of it Empty?

a cold, miserable little hamlet on the eastern coast of America called Piper's Grave.

If I leave, then the House will have no Inhabitant and how will I bear the thought of it Empty? Yet the simple fact is that if I remain in these Halls I will be alone.

Emptiness and boredom: what an understatement. What I felt was complete desolation. Desolation, despair, and depression.

Emptiness and boredom: what a complete understatement. What I felt was complete desolation. Desolation, despair and boredom.

They were all seventeen and miserable, just like me. They didn't have time to wonder why I was a little more miserable than most.

This was what was wonderful, standing alone in the big, soft night rewriting the past to make myself miss what had never been. Now that it was over, I could turn the past into anything I wanted. I could revise the empty space inside me so that it had a better shape: the outline of a happy childhood.

Increase of knowledge only discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. —The Monster, Frankenstein

I remember one desolate Sunday night, wondering: Is this how I´m going to spend the rest of my life? Marrid to someone who is perpetually distracted and somewhat wistful, as though a marvelous party is going on in the next room, which but for me he could be attending?

I am never lonely. A lonely person is one who is not aware of the complete fullness within. When you become dependent on something outside without having awareness of the reality within you, then you will indeed be lonely. The whole search for enlightenment is to seek within, to become aware that you are complete in yourself. You are perfect. You don't need any externals. No matter what happens in any situation, you need never be lonely.

The Buddha denied the existence of persisting selves. At the end of life, the self may dissolve into eternity like salt in the ocean. To some, this might seem distressing. But to lose the lonely self in the ocean of eternity could also be a release, an enlightenment, as the mystics promise.

There is a word, sad and resonant, for the last member of a dying species. The word is endling.

And yet I understood the alienation of being around others who couldn't really see you or chose not to. I'd felt the self-loathing that came with being a fraud, portraying an image of what you wished you couldn't be but weren't. I'd lived with the fear that the people you loved might turn away from you if they ever got to know the true person hidden inside.

I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

I don't care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.

I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.

I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next day had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue.