Quotes About Alienation

You can do and say everything exactly the same as everyone else, but if there's one thing different about you, that's all they care about." "I assume so," Peril said. "I've never actually tried acting like other dragons." "Well, it doesn't work," he said. Something was glowing in his eyes, an old, old anger. "Trust me. You still end up banished from your own home.

Underneath the brainwashing genocidal murderer is a very lonely brainwashing genocidal murderer.

How has it come to this? Where once my life was populated with the living, now I seem to keep company only with ghosts and ghouls and the like.

There's nothing so inhuman as a human being.

He did not look up because he knew how senseless the landscape would appear. It takes energy to invest life with meaning, and at present this energy was lacking. He knew how things could stand bare, their essence having retreated on all sides to beyond the horizon, as if impelled by a sinister centrifugal force.

He could not feel at ease with gourmets and hedonists; they were a hostile species.

The bar was stuffy and melancholy. It was full of the sadness inherent in all deracinated things.

And yet always you feel as though you understood perfectly the people and why they do everything as they do.Still you are absolutely severed from them.

The subterranean homesick clown

Television, I'm afraid, has isolated us more than race, class, or ethnicity.

One of the sicknesses of the twentieth century? I'll tell you the worst one. People can't stand to be alone. Can't tolerate it! So they go to the movies, get drive-in hamburgers, put their home telephone numbers in the crapsheets and say 'Please call me up!' It's sick. People hate their own company --- they cry when they see themselves in mirrors. It scares them, the way their faces look. Maybe that's a clue to the whole thing...

insight," and the "message" of his books (which is no message at all) is similar to Gogol's in Nabokov's summary: "Something is very wrong and all men are mild lunatics engaged in petty pursuits that seem to them very important, while an

there is nothing worse than the feeling that no one cares whether we exist or not, that no one is interested in what we have to say about life, and that the world can continue turning without our awkward presence. I began to imagine how many millions of people were, at that moment, feeling utterly useless and wretched—however rich, charming, and delightful they might be—because they were alone that night, as they were yesterday, and as they might well be tomorrow.

He lived in the rich city as alien as a rat in a rich man's house that is fed on scraps thrown away, and hides here and there and is never a part of the real life of the house.

Crowds moved wherever he went, across the bridge to Manhattan, in New York, wherever he went, life flowed and eddied, but he was not part of it.

He lived in the rich city as alien as a rat in a rich man's house that is fed on scraps thrown away, and hides here and there and is never a part of the real life of the house.

The country she had taken for granted as her own, where she had been born, whose language alone she spoke, had rejected her and despised her.

When you wake up in the morning and out of nowhere comes the heartache of alienation and loneliness, could you use that as a golden opportunity? Rather than persecuting yourself or feeling that something terribly wrong is happening, right there in the moment of sadness and longing, could you relax and touch the limitless space of the human heart? The next time you get a chance, experiment with this.

I'm with a crowd but oh so alone.

Man in Canadian art is rarely in command of his environment or ever at home in it.

I'm not a human anymore

nobody in the entire world will ever say anything to me again.

This boy thinks I am not of his species, that I am some other kind of creature, one that can be crushed under the weight of a phone book. The pain is not great, but the symbolism is disagreeable.

Nothing again. No one is listening. No one is waiting to hear the kicking of a man above. It is unexpected. You have no ears for someone like me.