Quotes About Loneliness

I'm tired of caring about people who end up leaving me.

Online chatting, on the other hand, has been linked to symptoms of loneliness, confusion, anxiety, depression, fatigue, and addiction.

it felt as if she'd floated up above the clouds to the edge of space and was now surrounded by a vacuum of nothing. No air, no wind, no feeling in her body. As

Maybe that's why her flat in New York City had never felt like home. Because deep down, Vivien longed to be somewhere where people knew her. Somewhere she belonged.

I would argue that it might be easier to endure loneliness than to endure the idea that you might disappear.

There is nothing more melancholy than empty festive places.

a brutal sense of loneliness, eased only by a place like the library, where lonely people can feel slightly less lonely together.

real fearlessness is the product of tenderness. It comes from letting the world tickle your heart, your raw and beautiful heart. You are willing to open up, without resistance or shyness, and face the world … If a person does not feel alone and sad, he cannot be a [spiritual] warrior at all…

I think of your wind chime brain the low hanging indifferent sky a frame for loneliness just beginning— — Susan Rich, from "The Lost Thing," diode (vol. 13, no. 3, Fall 2020)

Do you view your relationship as something to be endured for the sake of the kids, or because you don't want to be alone, or because you don't think you could do better?  Or do you view your relationship, even with its imperfections, as a worthwhile work in progress?  How would your view influence how you interact with your partner, what you do, what you say?  What results would those interactions produce?

I had never felt so lonely and so sad in my entire life.

Houses, like people, are apt to become rather eccentric if left too much on their own; this house was the architectural equivalent of an old gentleman in a worn dressing-gown and torn slippers, who got up and went to bed at odd times of day, and who kept up a continual conversation with friends no one else could see.

I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit in but you can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside.

Her sexual swagger is only the convention of a woman who suspects that there is little hope for happiness with a man, and who hedges her bet by pretending that she is grateful to be alone.

Pauline, who claims completely disingenuously to fuck only married men because she prefers to be alone on the holidays . . .

I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, beneath the distant swish-sound of the trucks. I looked over my shoulder. There was no one there. Which frightened me. Because I could hear him.

The egg was too spinsterly-looking a snack, too lonely-seeming, and I did not want to be lectured about my diet. Or my loneliness.

Though religious houses had long had a reputation for being both prisons and hotbeds of vice, they had always served as homes for the many surplus, unmarried, dowerless women who, lacking families to support them, would otherwise have lived out their lives in lonely, hopeless poverty.

Well, I don't have much competition here." "You don't have much competition anywhere.

I realize, for the first time, how very lonely I've been in the arena. How comforting the presence of another human being can be.

I just...I just miss him. And I hate being so alone.

Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.

Trapped for days, years, centuries maybe. Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but as good as dead. So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome.

I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.