Quotes About Loneliness

Always moving around and never having any friends or anything.

Self-destruction is an act best performed in the dark.

The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds--the creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveler, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn. But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other horrors.

Every gesture, every word, and even the silence of those with whom she came in contact, implied, and often expressed, that she was banished, and as much alone as if she inhabited another sphere, or communicated with the common nature by other organs and senses than the rest of human kind.

She perchance underwent an agony from every footstep of those that thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into the street for them all to spurn and trample upon.

They stood, as it were, in an utter solitude, which would be made none the less solitary by the densest throng of human life.

My heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and chill, and without a household fire, I longed to kindle one!

All through life that piece of crape had hung between him and the world; it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood and woman's love and kept him in that saddest of all prisons his own heart;

I know what to think when a young girl shivers by a warm hearth and complains of lonesomeness at her mother's side. Shall I put these feelings into words?

In all her intercourse with society, however, there was nothing that made her feel as if she belonged to it.

Nevertheless, in spite of all these professional grudges, artists are conscious of a social warmth from each other's presence and contiguity. They shiver at the remembrance of their lonely studios in the unsympathizing cities of their native land. For the sake of such brotherhood as they can find, more than for any good that they get from galleries, they linger year after year in Italy, while their originality dies out of them, or is polished away as a barbarism.

there is no earthly loneliness like that created by man's abandonment of what he once . . . considered secure and permanent.

Someone speak to me. Call out to me and take me out. Please, please, I'm begging you, say something kind to me. Tell me I'm pretty, tell me I'm sweet. Invite me out for coffee, or more... Tell me that you want to spend the day with me and me alone.

All I want is for someone to understand me before I die. With death staring me in the face, I finally understand the reason novelists write books: before they die they want somebody, somewhere, to understand them.

Here was a man who wanted what no one had wanted before: he wanted to get to know the inner workings of the doll-like woman who was me. Karl wasn't interested in me; neither was Johnson. But Kijima's father liked me for who I was. The realization left me feeling numb. I was touched. But being touched is not the same as feeling desire. And I didn't exist without desire. If I didn't exist, then what?

Kazue's journals depict an absolutely sublime struggle, the struggle between an individual and the rest of the world. Kazue lost the battle, ended up completely alone, and died hungry for some measure of kindness from another person. Don't you think it's a sad story?

Loneliness. Sometimes that awful feeling causes you to do something stupid.

Karl wasn't interested in me; neither was Johnson. But Kijima's father liked me for who I was. The realization left me feeling numb. I was touched. But being touched is not the same as feeling desire. And I didn't exist without desire. If I didn't exist, then what?

I don't know how best to explain how I felt at that moment. Perhaps, for the first time, it was the sadness of knowing that the world had no place for me.

I clearly wasn't in the inner circle, nor was I a member of the orbiters. I wasn't sure if I even fit into the category of outsider. Then was I even lower than garbage? Was it my lot in life to stand forever on heaven's shores watching the glittering swirl of celestial bodies on the other side?

If people can't stand being alone, they have no choice but to die.

I'm alone. And I'm crying. And no one is coming to the crib. And the nightlight has burned out. And I'm mad. I'm so mad. Left frontal lobe. I...I...I don't feel so good. Left occipital lobe. I... don't remember where...Left parietal lobe. I...I...I can't remember my name,but...but...Right temporal...but I'm still here. Right frontal. I'm still here... Right occipital.I'm still...Right parietal. I'm...Cerebellum. I'm...Thalamus. I...Hypothalamus. I...Hippocampus...Medulla........................

I marveled that people could live so close - that you could literally be surrounded by thousands who were only inches away - and yet be completely isolated. I found it hard to imagine. It's not so hard for me to imagine anymore.

I am legend. Yet every day I wish that I was not.