Quotes About Loneliness

Sheep In Fog The hills step off into whiteness. People or stars Regard me sadly, I disappoint them. The train leaves a line of breath. O slow Horse the colour of rust, Hooves, dolorous bells ---- All morning the Morning has been blackening, A flower left out. My bones hold a stillness, the far Fields melt my heart. They threaten To let me through to a heaven Starless and fatherless, a dark water.

There is something demoralising about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in that room

A wi?c teraz b?d? rozmawia? ka?dej nocy. Z sob? sam?. Z ksi??ycem. B?d? chodzi?, tak jak dzi?, zazdro?nie strzeg?c swojej samotno?ci, w niebieskosrebrnej po?wiacie zimnego ksi??yca, migocz?cej cudownie na zaspach ?wie?ego ?niegu miriad? iskierek.

The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this type of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.

Para a pessoa dentro da redoma de vidro, vazia e imóvel como um bebê morto, o mundo inteiro é um sonho ruim.

It didn't seem to be summer any more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together, and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head numb as a snowdrift.

A stiff breeze lifted the hair from my head. At my feet, the city doused its lights in sleep, its buildings blackened, as if for a funeral.

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for all the good it did me.

There's something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you're the only extra person in the room.

the city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.

He's lonely, that's all. So am I. Well, I'd rather be lonely than be with the wrong person.

And I thought of how my mother and brother and friends would visit me, day after day, hoping I would be better. Then their visits would slacken off, and they would give up hope. They would grow old. They would forget me... The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.

Po letech je potkávám na silnici - slova vyprahlá a bez jezdc?, neúnavný klapot kopyt. Zatímco ze dna t?nÄ› životu vládnou utkvÄ›lé hvÄ›zdy.

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence. I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for the good it did me.

A Better Resurrection I have no wit, I have no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numbed too much for hopes or fears; Look right, look left, I dwell alone; A lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is like the falling leaf; O Jesus, quicken me.

Entonces Constantino y la intérprete rusa y todo aquel montón de hombres negros y blancos y amarillos discutiendo allá abajo detrás de sus micrófonos rotulados parecieron alejarse en la distancia. Vi sus bocas subir y bajar sin sonido, como si estuvieran sentados en la cubierta de un buque que partía, dejándome en medio de un enorme silencio.

I feigned sleep until my mother left for school, but even my eyelids didn't shut out the light. They hung the raw, red screen of their tiny vessels in front of me like a wound. I crawled between the mattress and the padded bedstead and let the mattress fall across me like a tombstone. It felt dark and safe under there, but the mattress was not heavy enough. It needed about a ton more weight to make me sleep.

I can only end up with one, and I must leave many lonely by the wayside. So that is all for now. Perhaps someday someone will leave me by the wayside. And that will be poetic justice.

I have a lot to give someone, someday. But I must not be too Christian. I can only end up with one, and I must leave many lonely by the wayside. So that is all for now. Perhaps someday someone will leave me by the same idea. And that will be poetic justice..

I knew perfectly well the cars were making a noise, and the people in them and behind the lit windows of the buildings were making a noise, and the river was making a noise, but I couldn't hear a thing. The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for all the good it did me.

Then he would lean back in his chair and match the tips of his fingers together in a little steeple and tell me why I couldn't sleep and why I couldn't read and why I couldn't eat and why everything everyone did seem so silly, because they only died in the end.

Kendimi koÅŸu yolu olmayan bir dünyada yaÅŸayan bir yar?? at? gibi hissediyordum.

To ticho mÄ› deprimovalo. PÃ…â"¢itom to nebylo ticho normálního ticha. Bylo to moje vlastní ticho.

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 had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad infinitely desolate avenue.