Quotes About Loneliness

Wherever he was, he was onto something else, growing up without her, leaving her more alone than she already was.

Time brought along its secretary, memory, and space brought its brat, loneliness.

even though the mind of humanity was ultimately one mind, still, each and every single individual had to establish his or her own special, personal, particular, unique, direct, one-on-one, hands-on relationship with reality, with the universe, with the Divine. It might be complicated, it might be a pain in the ass, it might be, most of all, lonely—but it was the bottom line.

There was a marvelous, dark lyricism in his voice, the kind of defiance that is rooted in deep loneliness.

Ma mia cara... Lei così attraente e intelligente... Possibile che non abbia una vita affettiva? Non esiste più nessuno che l'abbia. In questo nostro tempo la gente ha una vita sessuale, non affettiva. Moltissimi stanno persino rinunciando al sesso. Quanto a me, non ho una vita affettiva perché non ho mai incontrato un uomo che sapesse come avere un vita affettiva. Forse neppure io lo so.

She felt like a black candle at a wake for a snake.

When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning, we will be alone, on an empty shore.

SEPTIMUS: When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning, we will be alone, on an empty shore. THOMASINA: Then we will dance. Is this a waltz?

Lonely was much better than alone.

She learned the intricacy of loneliness: the horror of color, the roar of soundlessness and the menace of familiar objects lying still.

There in the center of that silence was not eternity but the death of time and a loneliness so profound the word itself had no meaning.

I sure did live in this world.' 'Really? What have you got to show for it?' 'Show? To who? I got my mind. And what goes on in it. Which is to say, I got me.' 'Lonely, ain't it?' 'Yes. But my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else's. Made by somebody else and handed to you.

More than fear of loving bears or birds bigger than cows, I fear pathless nights. How, I wonder, can I find you in the dark?

Nobody loved her and she wouldn't have liked it if they had, she considered love a serious disability.

They were solitary little girls whose loneliness was so profound it intoxicated them and sent them stumbling into Technicolored visions that always included a presence, a someone, who, quite like the dreamer, shared the delight of the dream.

THERE IS a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up; holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship's, smooths and contains the rocker. It's an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is a loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's own feet going seem to come from a far-off place.

Kalabal?klar içinde olmak isteyenler yaln?zl?k çekenlerdir hep.

He wondered if there was anyone in the world who liked him. Liked him for himself alone.

He couldn't stay there surrounded by a passel of slaves whose silence made him imagine an avalanche seen from a great distance. No sound, just the knowledge of a roar he could not hear.

Nadie sabía apreciar la seguridad que proporcionaba la compañía de un fantasma.

And I believe our sorrow was the more intense because nobody else seemed to share it. They were disgusted, amused, shocked, outraged, or even excited by the story. But we listened for the one who would say, Poor little girl, or Poor baby, but there was only head-wagging where those words should have been. We looked for eyes creased with concern, but saw only veils.

Beloved wasn't interested. She said when she cried there was no one. That dead men lay on top of her. That she had nothing to eat. Ghosts without skin stick their fingers in her and said beloved in the dark and bitch in the light.

She went to bed with men as frequently as she could. It was the only place where she could find what she was looking for: misery and the ability to feel deep sorrow.

There is a loneliness that can be rocked. It's an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own.