Quotes About Loneliness

If you dwell in the darkness, you can see in the dark and look into the light. But in choosing the darkness, you know you are destined to walk alone.

Ask the Outsider what he ultimately wants and he will admit he doesn't know. Why? Because he wants it instinctively, and it is not always possible to tell what your instincts are driving towards. Young W.B. Yeats wanted a fairy land where 'the lonely of heart is withered away.' Dowson and Thompson and Beddoes were 'half in love with easeful death': They are not long, the days of wine and roses Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream.

The city knows you better than any living person because it has seen you when you are alone.

To think of those Nickel nights where the only sounds were tears and insects, how you could sleep in a room crammed with sixty boys and still understand that you were the only person on earth. Everybody and nobody around at the same time. Here everybody was around and by some miracle you didn't want to wring their neck but give them a hug.

Somewhere, years ago, she had stepped off the path of life and could no longer find her way back to the family of people.

She watches the people through the sooted panes. They walk slower than they do when she reports to work and when she leaves work, and differently still from weekend strolling. They are the tin men and rag dolls who wake after hours in the toy store.

When the work was done, and the day's punishments, the night waited as an arena for their true loneliness and despair.

The loneliness is the worst, because this knowledge is something that cannot be shared, only suffered. Just as well. Why should anyone else have it easy. Spoken like a true New Yorker.

scattered parkgoers. Cora hunkered and

to the empty space usually reserved for Valentine.

When the work was done, and the day's punishments, the night waited as an arena for their true loneliness and despair.

The type of guys Pepper sought were single-room-occupancy men, hot-plate men, shitty tippers who never passed a pay phone without checking for errant dimes, and they dreamed of fire.

Hard weeks, the kind where you realize you've engineered it so that nobody has anything on you, and that means nobody has anything for you: help, a kind word.

The french-fry smell was almost another person in our room, stumbling around in the dark

Mark Spitz backed away from the fucking corn.

That they ride in a box on a rope in a pit. That they are in the void.

He spills his guts, it was the last sip that sent him over the edge but she has her hands full with her own loneliness, she's not about to take on his. Reach inside to muzzle the broken part of you that is now talking.

I have nobody left to whom I can tell the story.

They looked ruined and decrepit, the sort of men who'd soon turn into empty chairs.

she might not have been party to love, but it still took a lot of volume to fill a life.

Here comes loneliness applauding itself all the way down the street.

A bottle of gin sat in the center of the table. More emptiness than gin in the bottle.

But it was only genius if you thought of it first. A teacher told him that. Genius is lonely.

That the door fell shut, that the latch fell into place, did I know it with a nameless fear. At that second the eight days turned into 192 hours, empty caged hours.