Quotes About Loneliness

She clicked on Mae's life preserver.

That day at school I prayed for the world to end.

I believed that I was alone in my struggle and that my battle was one of survival. By

Inside, my soul became so cold I hated everything. I even despised the sun, for I knew I would never be able to play in its warm presence. I cringed with hate whenever I heard other children laughing, as they played outside.

When she stamped her foot, it made a strange thud on the desolate beach. Like a heartbeat.

I closed my eyes and tried to discover where the happy half of me was hiding. I felt the tears trickling through my tightly closed eyelids. I felt Whisper's claws tugging at my jeans. I wanted to be all alone in an attic like Skellig with just the owls and the moonlight and an oblivious heart.

I guess we're all lonely in some way. - Oliver Stone

Well, nobody wants to be alone, especially around Christmas. I'm sure you know that most suicides happen around the holidays. Besides, this isn't a train this time of year. It's a social club of strangers looking for a friend.

room. It was four a.m. and he had not yet been to sleep.

When I looked in her eyes they were blue but nobody home. - Scarey Monsters (and Super Creeps)

It's a god-awful small affair To the girl with the mousy hair But her mummy is yelling, No! And her daddy has told her to go But her friend is nowhere to be seen Now she walks through her sunken dream To the seat with the clearest view And she's hooked to the silver screen. - Life on Mars?

And most important, nobody could love or relate to you. It would be impossible to feel any love for someone who was flawless and knew it all. Doesn't that sound lonely, boring, and miserable? Are you so sure you still want perfection? Part V Defeating Hopelessness and Suicide

His desktop was a sheet of black opal with neither paper nor a data console to mar its polished perfection. A small printer perched on the outer edge, as if contemplating suicide in remorse at intruding on so august a personage.

Salmissra was alone and unguarded. The palace eunuchs were sworn to protect her, but evidently a eunuch's oath doesn't mean all that much to him if it's going to involve bleeding.

Everyone's lonely, dear," she explained, drawing him close to her. "We touch other people only briefly, then we're alone again. You'll get used to it in time.

It's a very American illness, the idea of giving yourself away entirely to the idea of working in order to achieve some sort of brass ring that usually involves people feeling some way about you – I mean, people wonder why we walk around feeling alienated and lonely and stressed out.

The interesting thing is why we're so desperate for this anesthetic against loneliness.

When they were introduced, he made a witticism, hoping to be liked. She laughed extremely hard, hoping to be liked. Then each drove home alone, staring straight ahead, with the very same twist to their faces. The man who'd introduced them didn't much like either of them, though he acted as if he did, anxious as he was to preserve good relations at all times. One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one.

But if I decide to decide there's a different, less selfish, less lonely point to my life, won't the reason for this decision be my desire to be less lonely, meaning to suffer less overall pain? Can the decision to be less selfish ever be anything other than a selfish decision?

loneliness is not a function of solitude.

I'm not afraid of new things. I'm just afraid of feeling alone even when there's somebody else there. I'm afraid of feeling bad. Maybe that's selfish, but it's the way I feel.

The encaged and suicidal have a really hard time imagining anyone caring passionately about anything.

Metafiction is untrue, as a lover. It cannot betray. It can only reveal. Itself is the only object. It's the act of a lonely solipsist's self-love, a night-light on the black fifth wall of being a subject, a face in a crowd. It's lovers not being lovers. Kissing their own spine. Fucking themselves. True, there are some gifted old contortionists out there. Ambrose and Robbe-Grillet and McElroy and Barthelme can fuck themselves awfully well.

When they were introduced, he made a witicism, hoping to be liked. She laughed extremely hard, hoping to be liked. Then each drove home alone, staring straight ahead, with the very same twist to their faces.