Quotes About Disconnected

Immigrants use the library often. A lot of them don't have access to books and Internet at home. They seem so disconnected to the city.

With the growth of both urbanization and globalization, consumers are becoming increasingly disconnected from their food.

I don't remember feeling love.

Instead, we feel like ashes, leftovers from a bygone fire, blown aimlessly by the wind. We feel like we're not even important enough to be forgotten, because we were never known in the first place.

We glide about in a daze, disconnected from our reason.

To be off the grid is to be disconnected from most of America's infrastructure without having to cross any border.

The kind of society we live in can contribute to loneliness. Mobility and constant change tend to make some individuals feel rootless and disconnected.

Normal people never like me.

Am I a car aficionado? No: for me, cars have always been just for transport. I didn't even know anyone who had a car until I was 14 or 15.

Percy was not feeling the love.

They were appliances left unplugged.

Selfishness, narcissism, being uncomfortable in your own skin, not feeling connected to the world around you, feeling dislocated from family and youth, having a strange relationship with your childhood - all those things feel really true to me.

He was like a spirit cut free from reality. He was adrift, helpless, insubstantial.

I'm not into social media. I'm like from another century.

With the all-volunteer military, we, as a society, have become disconnected from our armed forces. And our military, like almost everything else in our country, has been outsourced.

Most of the time, I'm a little bewildered or sort of feel out of place.

Dissociated, I follow this body in its reckless haste.

When we disconnect from the body, we are pulling away from the energetic expression of our being that connects us with all of life. By imagining a great tree uprooted from earth, we can sense the unnaturalness, violence, and suffering of this severed belonging. The experience of being uprooted is a kind of dying.

He felt bewildered, as if he inhabited someone else's life.

A thorn ripped a gash that he didn't feel. His body was far away from his mind. He leaned back and stared at a patch of sky through the intertwining limbs. Nothing made sense.

Beneath these faces, these clothes, accents, rudeness, was power and sorrow, both unadmitted, unrealized, the power of inventors, the sorrow of the disconnected.

He was just scraps of words and dislocated phrases.

He hated this feeling of free-floating, just drifting from place to place, thought to thought, without any sense of anchor or root.

But now it's like I'm not really here. I'm just a witness, wayward and alone.