Quotes About Loneliness

The trouble with space is, there's so much of it. An ocean of blackness without any shore. A neverending nothing. And here, all alone in the million billion miles of midnight, is one solitary moving speck. A fragile parcel filled with sleeping people and their dreams.

Americans become unhappy and vicious because their preoccupation with amassing possessions obliterates their loneliness. This is why production in America seems to be on such an endless upward spiral: every time we buy something we deepen our emotional deprivation and hence our need to buy something.

The Song of the Camp By J.R.M. Far away in the piny woods, Where the dews fall heavy and damp, A soldier sat by the smoldering fire, And sang the song of the camp. It is not to be weary and worn, It is not to feel hunger and thirst, It is not the forced march, not the terrible fight, That seems to the solider the worst; But to sit through the comfortless hours, The lonely, dull hours that will come, With his head in his hands, and his eyes on the fire, And his thoughts on visions of home;

I never thought it would end like this. I never thought he would leave me without saying goodbye.

I am too dark in my heart tonight.

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty. But one no longer has the right to say so aloud.

I think I love him for this loneliness, that it's what pushed me toward him. I love his aloofness, his disengagement with the outside world. Such singularity moves me.

Je dis : pourquoi moi ? Il dit : parce tu n'es pas du tout comme les autres, parce qu'on ne voit que toi sans que tu t'en rendes compte. Il ajoute cette phrase, pour moi inoubliable : parce que tu partiras et que nous resterons.

Il me rend à la solitude. La plus profonde, celle qu'on ressent au cœur d'une foule.

He goes back to the books—this crazy number of books in the house neatly lined up or stacked in piles. All of a sudden I see a sort of admiration return to his face, but it's a painful admiration; what he likes about me is also what keeps me separate from him.

We are alone in the world. I've never enjoyed the rain so much.

I say to myself: Basically, what's new? Don't we already spend most of our time avoiding each other? Missing each other? I smile at the double meaning—an unsightly, tragic smile, of course.

Il serre la jolie poupée dans ses bras maigres, il la serre comme si sa vie en dépendait, il la serre comme il serrerait une vraie petite fille, silencieuse, tranquille et éternelle, une petite fille de l'aube et de l'orient. Son unique petite fille. La petite-fille de Monsieur Linh.

El anciano se llama Linh. Es el único que lo sabe, porque el resto de las personas que lo sabían están muertas.

An old man is standing on the after-deck of a ship. In his arms he clasps a flimsy suitcase and a newborn baby, even lighter than the suitcase. The old man's name is Monsieur Linh. He is the only person who knows this is his name because all those who once knew it are dead.

Pauvre petit Houellebecq, tout seul, avec sa valise trop lourde.)

But reading the note made me lonely in that kind of way one is lonely in a city of eight million people, when an empty connection is worse than being alone.

I alone knew what I had suffered. I alone knew what it felt like to be alive but dead.

His eyes were sharp but kind, and it seemed to amuse him to see children misbehave when he knew that deep down they didn't really want to misbehave, but were just feeling lonely or misunderstood or wanted to go outside and play instead of sitting in a hot classroom. (26)

As he turned round and drove away, he saw her standing in the driveway, in her white dress, looking for all the world like a child dropped off against her will after a custody weekend.

This road No one on it As autumn ends

Da una parte il cielo era tutto schiarito, e vi brillavano certe stellucce umide, sperdute nella sua grandezza, come in una sconfinata parete di metallo, da dove, sulla terra, venisse a cadere qualche misero soffio di vento.

Magari arrivi che senti la tua solitudine farsi pesante ma è un gioco diverso ed essere soli fa molto più male in mezzo alla gente, allora sì che è doloroso e pungono le ossa e il respiro è davvero brutto, come vivere un trip scannato e troppo lungo.

Abbiamo bisogno di molto tempo per accettare la brutalità del fatto di non essere più soli