Quotes About Loneliness

I'm alone a lot of the time, locked away in my room. I talk to myself, but sometimes I forget to answer and get mad at myself so I stop speaking to me which makes me sad because no matter where I go, there I am, stuck in my cell.

From my experience, loneliness isn't necessarily caused by a lack of people but is more an inner ache caused by a fractured soul. The question, Is this all there is? rumbles through the corridors of our minds.

I understood that in this small space of time we had mutually surrendered our loneliness and replaced it with trust.

Nessuno mi stava aspettando. Ma mi aspettava ogni cosa.

Christmas was coming and there was a pervasive melancholy, as if everyone simultaneously remembered they had nowhere to go. Even

No moon or stars, real or imagined.

It was unsettling to imagine it alone on the bench without a film, unable to record its own passage into the hands of a stranger.

Murakami is not here anyway, I thought. He is most likely somewhere else, sealed in a space capsule in the center of a field of lavender, laboring over words.

I paced while he slept, ricocheting like a dove skidding the lonely confines of a Joseph Cornell box.

We all have a song. A song comes spontaneously, expressing joy, loneliness, to dispel fear or exhibit a small triumph. We hardly notice we are forming them, as we sing them, often alone, half to ourselves. It is finding the words within that leads us to sing. It might be a hymn, a shard of rebellion, or a teenage prayer.

For the first time, I lived alone... in a luxury apartment on Sunset Strip. For a few days I loved the idea, but I got lonely and restless.

I walk around the world like a ghost, and sometimes I question whether I even exist. Whether I've ever existed at all.

The only person I knew how to be with now was myself - but I wasn´t really anyone, and I wasn´t really alive. I was just someone who pretended to be alive, a dead mean who spent his days translating a dead man´s book.

I became hypnotized by my own loneliness, unwilling to stop until my eyes wouldn't stay open anymore, watching the white line of the highway as though it was the last thing that connected me to the earth.

I was looking for a quiet place to die.

I chanced upon these words from a letter by Van Gogh: "Like everyone else, I feel the need of family and friendship, affection and friendly intercourse. I am not made of iron, like a hydrant or a lamp post. Perhaps this is what really counts: to arrive at the core of human feeling, in spite of the evidence.

In the deepest, most unalterable sense, he was an invisible man. Invisible to others, and most likely invisible to himself as well. If, while he was alive, I kept looking for him, kept trying to find the father who was not there, now that he is dead I still feel as though I must go on looking for him. Death has not changed anything. The only difference is that I have run out of time.

stranded in the awkward position of being against the ones who were against, which was a lonely place to be for a person who was also against the ones who were for.

Eds atbildot kaut ko no?urd un pied?v? Bovenam aps?sties, negaid?ti piemin?dams fragmentu no "Voldenas", kad ar žestu nor?da uz vien?go kr?slu istab?. Toro teica, ka vi?a m?j? esot tr?s kr?sli, Eds ieminas. Viens vientul?bai, otrs draudz?bai un trešais sabiedr?bai. Man ir tikai viens kr?sls vientul?bai. Ja v?l piemer kl?t gultu, varb?t san?k divi draudz?bai.

Literature is essentially loneliness. It is written in solitude, it is read in solitude and, in spite of everything, the act of reading allows a communication between two human beings.

He wondered why he turned so sentimental. That's what happened when you have no one to talk to.

But the Can Man is still touched in the head, and on nights when the world closes in on him, he still gets down on his hands and knees and howls at the moon.

La única persona con la que sabía cómo comportarme era conmigo mismo; pero verdaderamente yo ya no era nadie, no estaba realmente vivo. Sólo era alguien que fingía estar vivo, un muerto que

Etan Patz se había despedido de su madre una mañana y había bajado a esperar el autobús del colegio (era el primer día después de una larga huelga de autobuses y el niño quería ir solo, hacer ese pequeño gesto de independencia) y nadie había vuelto a verlo. Fuera lo que fuese lo sucedido, no dejó rastros".