Quotes About Loneliness

I tell you loneliness is the thing to master. Courage and fear, love, death are only parts of it and can easily be ruled afterwards. If I make myself master my own loneliness there will be peace or safety: and perhaps these are the same.

My kind of loneliness now has no cure, you know; it is something I expect to live with until I die. Friends are heavenly kind, sometimes fun; it would be fatal not to have them. But I by no means need or want daily contact; perhaps it takes as much out of me as it gives, perhaps takes more.

If I were a first rate writer, I wouldn't mind a bit. What does depress me is this: it is so desperately hard and so obsessive and so lonely to write that, in return for all this work, one would like a little self satisfaction. And that is never going to come, for the simple reason that I do not deserve it. I cannot be a good enough writer. You see? I call it grim. But the future looks awfully clear to me.

It is much harder to be lonely, when you have for a while stopped being lonely. I was used to having only myself, cold and hard as that is; I could live with it. And now I wait, for a voice, a face, a body, that is not going to be here, is not mine, does not in any case wait as I do, nor share this homesickness. […] How to explain that I taught myself to be tough and indifferent, because it mattered too much and learned not even to weep in my mind not to notice.

Work did not destroy the loneliness; work was only a fog in which they moved so that they might not see the loneliness of each other

It's so hard, because so much of the time when I'm here, what you're seeing is not what I'm seeing. I feel like such an imposter. I'm out in my ocean, and you don't know that. And I can't tell you what's going on. Sometimes I'd really like to tell you, but I can't. I'm gone.

On her bad days, she felt like a dead albatross would be more appropriate headgear for her, suiting her mood and her apparent role in life.

Oh Christ, the exhaustion of not knowing anything. It's so tiring and hard on the nerves. It really takes it out of you, not knowing anything. You're given comedy and miss all the jokes. Every hour you get weaker. Sometimes, as I sit alone in my flat in London and stare at the window, I think how dismal it is, how heavy, to watch the rain and not know why it falls.

Oh Christ, the exhaustion of not knowing anything. It's so tiring and hard on the nerves. It really takes it out of you, not knowing anything. You're given comedy and miss all the jokes. Every hour you get weaker. Sometimes, as I sit alone in my flat in London and stare at the window, I think how dismal it is, how heavy, to watch the rain and not know why it falls.

I sit and feel lonely. Sitting and feeling lonely is something I am a spectacular success at. I can do it for hours. Everyone is good at something.

At the same time, she often felt lonely. Books became her refuge. When she was unhappy, she withdrew with her books and shut herself off from the rest of the world. This is what she had already done as a child. With the help of books she could create a world of her own, where she could do as she wanted, and where no one could bother her.

InteligenÅ£a te face nefericit, singuratic, s?rac, pe cînd deghizarea inteligenÅ£ei îÅ£i confer? o imortalitate de hîrtie de ziar ÅŸi admiraÅ£ia celor care cred în ce citesc.

I have the curse of reason: I'm poor, single and depressed. For months now I've been thinking about my illness of thinking too much, and I've established with complete certainty the correlation between my unhappiness and the incontinence of my mind. Probing and pondering and overanalyzing have never given me any advantages; they've only played against me.

I've been so lonely, mother, I decided to converse with my belly button, it talks just like my sweetheart but sometimes does not obey. I've seen yours, it really has a big smile; I guess as you get older your navel becomes more expressive.

All his support seemed to have achieved was to allow his wife to become more and more reclusive. He

And so he did his endless work,' I continued quietly, 'without feeling, without pity, without rest, for to open his heart to these would be to open his heart to his loneliness and longing and that was beyond bearing.

She watched until it became an indistinct dot in the sky.

I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.

The streets were more empty than usual—everyone who had someone was probably at home, cuddling them up, waiting for the bombs to fall or the shooting to start or the diseases to spread or just for the chips in their heads to catch viruses, melt, and drip out of their brains.

I hope somebody cares because I sure don't. I sure don't. Not anymore. I'm ashamed to go around my family. I'm too embarrassed to confide in my friends. Outside of work I don't have a life.

In a world filled with people, some happy, others like me, I feel so all alone.

The worst thing about loneliness is that it brings one face to face with oneself.

I am not sure what lonliness is," she said. "If it is not literally being solitary, is it the fear of solitude, of being alone with oneself? I feel no such fear. I like being alone." "What do you fear then?" he asked her. She glanced briefly at him and smiled, a fragile expression that spoke for itself even before she found words. "Never finding myself again....

Loneliness. It's a thing, you know, not a feeling. A big, ugly thing that moves in and takes over until you forget how to live without it, but you can't live with it either.