Quotes About Loneliness

No one spoke to me. I was easy to ignore. It was not so very different from home, really.

Mas, em uma vida solitária, há raros momentos em que outra alma mergulha perto da sua, como estrelas roçando a terra uma vez por ano. Ele foi pra min uma dessas constelações

Ma in un'esistenza solitaria, sono rari i momenti in cui un'altra anima si fonde con la tua, così come le stelle sfiorano la terra una volta all'anno. Una tale costellazione era stato lui per me.

Aucune loi n'oblige les dieux à être justes, Achille, reprit Chiron. Et après tout, peut-être que l'ultime chagrin consiste à se retrouver seul sur terre une fois que l'autre est parti.

We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.

Mas em uma vida solitária, há raros momentos em que outra alma mergulha perto da sua, como estrelas roçando a terra uma vez por ano. Ele foi para mim uma dessas constelações.

Ta?iau vienatvei pasmerktame gyvenime pasitaiko ret? akimirk?, kai greta tavo sielos netik?tai nusileidžia kita, kaip kad žvaigžd?s kart? per metus paglosto žem?. Man jis buvo b?tent tokia žvaigžd?

Those half-seconds, that the line of our gaze connected, were the only moment in my day that I felt anything at all. The sudden swoop of my stomach, the coursing anger. I was like a fish eyeing the hook.

Después hicieron acto de presencia las lágrimas, y se derramaron, y las constelaciones se pusieron a girar sobre nosotros, y la luna empezó a trazar su fatigoso curso. Yacimos acongojados e insomnes mientras transcurrían las horas.

I had no right to claim him, I knew it. But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such constellation was he to me.

It is like a tomb. This is what it will be, every day, without him.

I felt myself a stranger to the world

My eyes were heavy in my head, and my arm ached from the morning'e exertion. I sat beneath the scrubby shade of an olive tree to stare out over the ocean's waves. No one spoke to me. I was easy to ignore. It was not so very different from home, really.

Do you always talk to pigs when I am gone?

I was a gray space filled up with nothing.

The door closed, and the room swelled around me like a bruise. When she was here, I could pretend it felt small because of her, but when she left the four wood walls seemed to press towards me, like lungs that had breathed in. The window did not help, for it was too high to see from the bed and too small to take in much air.

It is strange to think of a goddess needing friends.

No, she had no belief--none. She was completely alone with herself. The world was empty for her, but she didn't know it.

It was quite possible that she had lost the capacity to love and care anymore and that this is how she was going to be for the rest of her life.

Liz pulled her best china from the top cupboard. "I invited Cecilly because she has nowhere else to go," she said. "It's Christmas. People shouldn't be alone at Christmas. It's not right." "It's not right that we're stuck with her, either," Holly muttered, but Mom didn't hear.

It is easier, of course, to find dignity in one's solitude. Loneliness is solitude with a problem. Can blue solve the problem, or can it at least keep me company within it?—No, not exactly. It cannot love me that way; it has no arms. But sometimes I do feel its presence to be a sort of wink—Here you are again, it says, and so am I.

I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do.

I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do. It is easier, of course, to find dignity in one's solitude. Loneliness is solitude with a problem. Can blue solve the problem, or can it at least keep me company within it? No, not exactly. It cannot love me that way; it has no arms. But sometimes I do feel its presence to be a sort of wink-- Here you are again, it says, and so am I.

Girls are cruelest to themselves," observes Anne Carson in "The Glass Essay," her brilliant long poem about the ravages of female anger, loneliness, grief, and desire, giving us as poetic adage what any number of other fields give us as statistic.