Quotes About Loneliness

What killed people wasn't a bullet, a blade, a fist to the face. What killed people was a feeling. Left too long. Sometimes in the cold, frozen. Sometimes buried and fetid. And sometimes on the shores of a lake, isolated. Left to grow old, and odd.

What could be worse? Dying, and not being missed.

I went through a period in my life when I had no friends, when the phone never rang, when I thought I would die from loneliness. I know that the real blessing here isn't that I have a book published, but that I have so many people to thank.

Now she sat in front of him, nearly submerged under layers of thick sweaters and blankets. She looked like a laundry hamper without a head.

Ducks mate for life, Clara knew. That's why duck hunting season was particularly cruel. Every now and then in the fall you'd see a lone duck, quacking. Calling. Waiting for its spouse. And for the rest of its life it would wait.

From deep inside Harriet Landers came every shriek she'd ever swallowed. All the fear, the frustrations, the anger and buried resentments. The wounds, the pain, the losses and humiliations. The times she'd been ignored, marginalized, diminished. Judged and found wanting. The parties not invited to, the boys who'd mocked her. The girls who'd left her out. All her insecurities, loneliness, hurts, and rage from birth to this, her last moment, came rushing out.

Surely you can feel it. Do you ever feel lost, as though people are speaking a foreign language, as though there's something going on which everyone else gets, but you don't?

crevices. There was a noise in his

Peter kept filling his wine glass, and Clara prattled on about getting the garden ready. That was the beauty of friends, she knew. Nothing was expected of Monsieur Béliveau, and he knew it. Sometimes it's just nice not to be alone.... On the veranda Clara and Peter had hugged him but offered no easy words of comfort. To do that would be to simply comfort themselves. What Monsieur Béliveau needed was to feel bad. And then he'd feel better.

When we did eventually get to the party - me walking next to Dad's Volvo driving at five miles an hour - I had a horrible time. Everyone laughed at first but then more or less ignored me. In a mood of defiant stuffed oliveness I did have a dance by myself but things kept crashing to the floor around me. The host asked if I would sit down. I had a go at that but it was useless. In the end I was at the gate for about an hour before Dad arrived.

I am a pop widow.

Out on the moors, The lonely moors, I roll around in sheep poo. Heathcliff, it's youuuuu, I hate you, I love you tooooo. Let me in, I'm here, it's meeeee, Catheeeeeeee. Look out of your windooooow.

I am abandoned on the ship of life." "I know." "Jas, you are not really cheering me up." "Well, I know and that is because there is really nothing to be cheerful about; I would hate to be you." in

However, I will never feel anything again. Good. I am done with love. It's a mug's game. I am just going to sit in my room for the rest of my life not doing stuff.

I suppose this is what life will be like for me—never having a boyfriend, always just living through others

Abandoned buildings are like abandoned people. They grow bitter and start to keep bad company.

I crawled back into myself all alone, just delighted to observe that I was even more miserable than before, because I had brought a new kind of distress and something that resembled true feeling into my solitude.

No amount of rationalisation, reform, or Freudian analysis can quite annul the thrill of the chimney-corner whisper or the lonely wood.

How empty seems the town now you are gone! A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls Hide nothing to desire.

Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, And drench me in loneliness.

Clear nights are sometimes the coldest.

Every child is at some point a small Perseus, and this infatuation with the dark and the lonely is for most people an acute condition, best caught early in life like mumps, and which seldom recurs.

Everything good or bad that has occurred in my life has been predictable and inevitable, especially the choices and actions that have made sure I am now utterly alone.

It has been seven years since you died. Of course what I'll say next is that time has flown by. I got old. All of a sudden, de repente. I walk with difficulty. I even drool. I leave the door unlocked in case I die in my sleep, but it's more likely I'll go endlessly on until I get put away someplace. I am already dotty.... It's not so strange that I talk to my cat but I feel silly because he is totally deaf.