Quotes About Loneliness

Surely it doesn't have to be this way? Stretching up the hill ahead of me, I begin to see all of my future relationships, bearing me on and up like some escalator of the fleshly. Each step is a man, a man who will penetrate me with his penis and his language, a man who will make a little private place with me, secure from the world, for a month, or a week, or a couple of years. How much more lonely and driven is the serial monogamist than the serial killer?

Wat zou er trouwens veranderen als er op andere planeten ook mensen woonden? Ik heb nooit gehoord dat de Europeanen zich minder eenzaam voelden, toen Columbus ontdekte dat Amerika bestond er dat er daar ook mensen waren.

De liefde tot katten is zo mooi, doordat het eigenlijk een ongelukkige liefde is. Wie durft uit het diepst van zijn gemoed te verklaren dat zijn kat hem bemint? Ik denk dat katten vooral tot liefdesobject worden uitgekozen door hen die een afkeer hebben van allemansvriendinnen.

Ik denk te veel. Het interesseert niemand. Mijn gedachten zitten in mij als sardines in een blik. Een blik waarop een verkeerd etiket is geplakt zodat niemand de inhoud kan raden.

Who can enjoy acting in an empty theater ?

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,A lonely impulse of delightDrove to this tumult in the clouds.

Somewhere beyond the curtainOf distorting daysLives that lonely thingThat shone before these eyesTargeted, trod like Spring.

We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with.

We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls, that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race, Under the passing stars, foam of the sky, Lives on this lonely face.

Worse, Lee felt isolated. In Texas he skipped meals with others to avoid "uninteresting men," wishing he was back by his campfire on the plains eating his meals alone.211 He avoided sharing quarters and found that he "would infinitely prefer my tent to my-self."212 In a group he felt more alone than out on the prairie, and that "my pleasure is derived from my own thoughts.

No voice divine the storm allayed, No light propitious shone;When, snatched from all effectual aid, We perished, each alone:But I beneath a rougher sea,And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he.

The Castaway" Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roared, When such a destined wretch as I, washed headlong from on board. Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home forever left...

One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

I came alone and I go as a stranger. The instant which has passed in power has left only sorrow behind it. I have not been the guardian and protector of the Empire. Life, so valuable, has been squandered in vain. God was in my heart but I could not see him. Life is transient. The past is gone and there is no hope for the future. The whole imperial army is like me: bewildered, perturbed, separated from God, quaking like quicksilver.

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely.

The dark world seemed to lie stricken beneath the cold moon and the lidless stars.

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely.

Were there darker provinces of night he would have found them. —CORMAC MCCARTHY, Child of God, 1973

The man wore a dark fedora and beneath its brim the fierce empty eyes looked out as if they were coming from a thousand miles away, and were off immediately another thousand in some other direction.

the friend neither sang of grief, nor open his heart to me he muttled in his inquisition and wasted his life and his dreams

Loneliness is the diary keeper's lover. It is not narcissism that takes them to their desk every day. And who "keeps" whom, after all? The diary is demanding; it imposes its routine; it must be chored the way one must milk a cow; and it alters your attitude toward life, which is lived, finally, only in order that it may makes it way to the private page. [From "Fifty Literary Pillars", p.35]

For a while, every day, even though the snow was piled and the sky dead and the winter wind was blowing, I watched for my aunt to come again and bring me a book like my ma'd said she would. She never came.

He hated winter. The same gray sky lay on the ground, day after day, gray as industrial smoke, and in the sky the ground floated like a street that's been salted, and his closets were cold, holes wore through his pockets, and he was lonely, indoors and out, with a loneliness like the loneliness of overshoes or someone else's cough.

He hated not being heard, having to shout at the insides of himself, having to live in his dreams the way he lived in one of his rented rooms, being opposed, denied, neglected, refused. Kicked out.