Quotes About Loneliness

Though her husband often went on business trips, she hated to be left alone. "I've solved your problem," he said. "I've bought you a St. Bernard. Its name is Great Reluctance. Now, when I go away, you shall know that I am leaving you with Great Reluctance!" She hit him with a waffle iron.

Nothing echoes like an empty mailbox.

I'm nobody I'm a tramp, a bum, a hobo I'm a boxcar and a jug of wine And a straight razor ...if you get too close to me

Sometimes I think that hell is two places: it's a place you end up, but it's also a place that you live before you get there. I don't know if the devil's got horns and a spear for a tail, but I don't think that's the point. The point is that hell is separate from love. If Lucifer knows anything, he knows that. And ever since Emma left, I'd known the same thing. It's a lonely, desolate place.

Don't let that girl slip away." A single shake. "Lonely is no way to live." He tapped me on the chest. "And you been lonely since the moment I met you.

Man, or woman, is not made to be worshiped. We are not physically cut out for it. Life in the spotlight, on the pedestal, at the top of the world was a lonely, singular, desolate, soul-killing place.

the kid was leaning against the window.

Memories surfaced and flashed before my mind's eye—the hospital, tear stained nights, never-ending days, loneliness so deep I thought I would drown—and maybe sometimes I wanted to. I flung open the doors of my mind, dug them out of their holes where I'd hidden them from Maggie, and pretty soon ten pads turned into twenty, and all the beauty and wonder—and yes, even ugliness—of my life stared back at me. The mirror told no lies.

And while she sounded lonesome, I doubted whether a whip-poor-will ever sounded that hauntingly pure.

The point is that hell is separate from love. If Lucifer knows anything, he knows that. And ever since Emma left, I'd known the same thing. It's a lonely, desolate place.

Semenza had his own special interest in getting people together. The story of his introduction to the geography of loneliness is worth remembering.

I saw an infinity of such dreary evenings stretching out ahead of me. Trapped in a dirty old house with a grieving old woman and an irritable young one. And with only the books I had brought with me, most of which were still in my trunk anyway.

The kind of people I know now don't have barbecues, Mama. They stand up alone at nights in small rooms and eat cold weenies. My so-called friends are bums. Many of them are nothing but rats. They spread T.B. and use dirty language. They're wife-beaters and window peepers and night crawlers and dope fiends. They have running sores on the backs of their hands that never heal. They peer up from cracks in the floor with their small red eyes and wait for chances.

To be a serious writer requires discipline that is iron fisted. It's sitting down and doing it whether you think you have it in you or not. Everyday. Alone. Without interruption. Contrary to what most people think, there is no glamour to writing. In fact, it's heartbreak most of the time. --Harper Lee

Estranged from family and friends While racking our brains whether The world we see is truly out there, Or it never leaves our minds.

Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.

Poetry is an orphan of silence.

Why do vampires have no friends? They suck.

There is," he said, "a great sense of loneliness in the discharge of high public duties. The moment of decision is one of isolation.

Love from the abandoned heart of a nonexistent dog.

Probably it goes without saying, but time machine guys don't get a lot of action. Had a one night stand with something cute a couple of years ago. Not human exactly. Human-ish. Close enough that she looked awesome without her shirt on.

Tonight, I feel small. An entire night in the city seems to be too much for me, too immense for me to get lost in. By now it's past one, the after-hours city is in full swing, and morning is a long way off.

I fix time machines during the day (whatever a day means for me—I'm not sure I even know that anymore), and at night I sleep alone, in a quiet, nameless, dateless day that I found, tucked into a hidden cul-de-sac of space–time.

the inversion of the relationship, the care and feeding, the brute fact of physical dependency: If you don't do this, he can't do it for himself. If you miss a week, he sits in the dark. Not that he'll die. Although there is always that possibility. But he'll be lonelier that day, hungrier.