Quotes About Hollowness

Pusto mi je u duši. Prazno mi je srce.

All facade, all vacant, enjoyment without sustenance, celebration without boundaries or purpose.

Sono come queste pietre afghane. Non ci cresce niente dentro di me

You're like the figures you display in your shop. A beautiful thing, shiny in sunlight, but at the core—poured metal, cold stone.

Cuando muere lo más puro Cualquier gozo se invalida Queda el pecho como hueco, Y hay sombras por donde mires.

There was Donald Trump. He had his name on gold-plated buildings and was the star of his own reality show. He had more than anyone could ever dream of, but as he stabbed his phone with his odd little orange fingers he looked like the saddest man on the planet.

Once, he'd used it in song, but the songs in his heart had gone silent long ago, and he knew that one day so would his voice. A man with nothing inside him eventually had nothing to say.

There's not much left inside me, Max" Sometimes, all she heard were echoes.

Skin chilling, she realized he had no more in him.

I knew that successful politicians cannot bear to accept defeat within themselves. A human being cannot stand up to a double defeat. That is the secret of their continuous attempt to rise to power. They draw a feeling of supremacy from their power over others. It makes them feel victorious rather than defeated. It hides how essentially hollow they are inside, despite the impression of greatness they try to spread around them, which is all they really care for.

Feeling nothing is worse than feeling anything else. I

It's as though all I am is my job. All I am is an empty shell. I look all right from a distance, but up close there's nothing there, nothing behind the pretty whorls and the brittle exterior. But I don't have that job anymore. No shell. But if I don't have that then what do I have?

En cuanto se entablaba una conversación con él, no se podía evitar exclamar: «¡Qué hombre tan bueno y agradable!». Un instante después, uno ya no decía nada y, a los tres minutos, pensaba: «¿Qué demonios es esto?», y se apresuraba a alejarse, pues, si no, le invadía un hastío mortal.

Barren, barren and trivial are these words.

The inner, the real and the unseen are irrelevant in today's world. All that counts is appearance, and the world of consumerism has lost no time in catering to every need, and then creating even more, in this burgeoning market of the appearance.

Somehow it is not the smile of a human being: it utterly lacks substance, all of what we might call the "heaviness of blood" or perhaps the "solidity of human life"—it has not even a bird's weight. It is merely a blank sheet of paper, light as a feather, and it is smiling.

era distinta a la sonrisa de un ser humano. ¿Cómo decirlo? Le faltaba el peso de la sangre, la aspereza de la vida. No producía el efecto de tener sustancia; no tenía ni el peso de un pájaro, apenas el de una pluma. Era una simple hoja de papel blanco con una sonrisa por completo artificial.

But how awful would that be? How terrible to live surrounded by the stark, sharp, hollowness of things that simply were enough?

So yes, in some ways, these would be enough for soap. But how awful would that be? How terrible to live surrounded by the stark, sharp, hollowness of things that simply were enough ?

El silencio más obvio era una calma hueca y resonante, constituida por las cosas que faltaban

There was no smell, no texture, no temperature to it. It had as much substance as a politician's promise.

I just remember that everything looked the same-all style and no substance

Horton could tell instantly there was no one in the house, dead or alive. Death left a place much colder than this, you could smell it, taste it, and sense it. It crept up your flesh, quickened your breath, and sent your pulse racing to cope with the first shock of meeting it. But this house was empty, just a shell.

Ik hoorde hoe flauw ik klonk. Als iemand die wel praat maar niets zegt.