Quotes About Alienation

But…I always felt like I was standing on the other side of a large glass window. I could see the world passing beyond it, could even pretend I was part of it. But that barrier was still there. Separating me from everyone else." He looked away. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it?

I've lived my entire life on the outside.

Whenever I allow anything but tenderness and compassion to dictate my response to life--be it self-righteous anger, moralizing, defensiveness, the pressing need to change others...I am alienated from my true self. My identity as Abba's child [a child of God] becomes ambiguous, tentative and confused

Dag na dag, een deel van iedere nacht, zaten wij naast elkaar als vreemden. Glimlachende maskers en levenloze opgevulde pronkgewaden: markies en markiezin van Pescara.

Ben ik voorgoed een vreemde in het land van mijn geboorte, op de grond vanwaar ik niet verplant wil zijn?

In the end everyone, or not quite everyone, made friends again in order not to be stuffy or righteous. I did too. But I could never make friends again truly, neither in my heart nor in my head. When you cannot make friends any more in your head is the worst. But it was more complicated than that.

When the younger son was no longer considered a human being by the people around him, he felt the profundity of his isolation, the deepest loneliness one can experience. He was truly lost, and it was this complete lostness that brought him to his senses.

We love because he first loved us" (1 John 4:19). We find freedom as we are touched by that first love. For it is that love that will break us away from our alienation and separation. It is a love that can soothe our compulsions to hoard and pretend we can organize the future. It is a love that allows us to love others.

The "distant country" is the world in which everything considered holy at home is disregarded.

The paradox indeed is that those who want to be for "everyone" find themselves often unable to be close to anyone.

Society is commonly too cheap.

He is outside of everything, and alien everywhere. He is an aesthetic solitary. His beautiful, light imagination is the wing that on the autumn evening just brushes the dusky window.

It had freely been noted for him that he might be received as a dog among skittles, but that was on the basis of the old quantity.

New York! The white prisons, the sidewalks swarming with maggots, the breadlines, the opium joints that are built like palaces, the kikes that are there, the lepers, the thugs, and above all, the ennui, the monotony of faces, streets, legs, houses, skyscrapers, meals, posters, jobs, crimes, loves... A whole city erected over a hollow pit of nothingness. Meaningless. Absolute meaningless.

I am a man of the old world, a seed that was transplanted by the wind, a seed which failed to blossom in the mushroom oasis of America. I belong on the heavy tree of the past. My allegiance, physical and spiritual, it is with the men of Europe, those who were once Franks, Gauls, Vikings, Huns, Tatars, what not. The climate for my body and soul is here where there is quickness and corruption. I am proud not to belong in this century.

The universe has dwindled; it is only a block long and there are no stars, no trees, no rivers. The people who live there are dead; they make chairs which other people sit on in their dreams. In the middle of the street is a wheel and in the hub of the wheel a gallows is fixed. People already dead are trying frantically to mount the gallows, bu the wheel is turning too fast

Visata susitrauk?, liko tik miesto kvartalo dydžio, joje neb?ra žvaigždži?, neb?ra medži?, neb?ra upi?. Žmon?s, kurie ?ia gyvena, yra mir?. Jie dirba k?des, ant kuri? kiti žmon?s s?di sapnuose.

It's terrible to be civilized, because when you come to the end of the world you have nothing to support the terror of loneliness.

When I think of New York I have a very different feeling. New York makes even a rich man feel his unimportance. New York is cold, glittering, malign. The buildings dominate. there is a sort of atomic frenzy to the activity going on; the more furious the pace, the more diminished the spirit. A constant ferment, but it might just as well be going on in a test tube. Nobody knows what it is about. Nobody directs the energy.

Zamans?z doÄŸmuÅŸ insanlar vard?r; ülkesiz, s?n?fs?z ve geleneksiz doÄŸmuÅŸ insanlar vard?r. YaÅŸam? tek ba??na sürdürmeyi seçenler deÄŸil tam olarak; sürgünler, gönüllü sürgünler. Bunlar her zaman da duygusal deÄŸildir: belirli bir ÅŸeye ait deÄŸillerdir yaln?zca - yani hiçbir yere ait deÄŸildirler.

wasteland resembling those vast areas of Australia where the dodo bird, shunned by other feathered species of the bush, forlornly buries his head in the sand and whistles out the other end.

Those who devote their lives to earning a living are incapable of living a human existence.

I gave up on new poetry myself 30 years ago when most of it began to read like coded messages passing between lonely aliens in a hostile world.

Whether it was H. P. Lovecraft's doomed towns or Shirley Jackson's lonely, looming 'The Haunting of Hill House,' the boondocks had all the fun. As a black kid in Queens, New York, I couldn't have felt more removed.