Quotes About Disconnect

And so we see people who are spiritually disconnected, living in boxes and driving in boxes, perhaps once a year going "out to nature" to get a small touch of what was once the daily experience of humans. These people seek escape. They sit in urban and suburban homes and feel miserable, not knowing why, experiencing anxiety and fear and pain that cannot be softened by drugs or TV or therapy because they are afflicted with a sickness of the soul, not of the mind.

The size of the city and the nature of how independent the neighborhoods are means that not only do people who live outside Chicago not know what is going on there, Chicagoans often don't know what is going on there.

Let me put it this way, I lived in L.A. for 10 years and did not know my neighbors.

I myself lived in London for 20 years, and I never knew my next-door neighbors. I never knew what they did. I never knew their names. They didn't know what I did for a living, and they didn't know my name.

I don't belong to any social network, and I don't even message much. In fact, most of the time, I don't even use my mobile phone.

I hate to be the one to defend George Bush, but you have to be able to disconnect the professional George Bush from the personal George Bush. I know all the anti-war folks think he is a monster, but he is still a very personable, nice person.

Christmas is always a great time because I get to be around family and spend time with my brother, nieces, and nephews, so that's what I plan to do. It's great to disconnect from everything.

I don't watch TV. When people at my house try to talk about TV, I'm like, 'Ah, I have no idea what I'm talking about.'

Reading is itself a state of artificially enhanced loneliness.

My father's on my radar, but most of the time I shut it off.

Do you really feel that out of place, that lonely? Because I feel that lonely, too. Sometimes I feel like I'm just watching my daily life play out on a giant projection screen, while I'm living my real life in my head, or something. I don't know. If I was in a room with a thousand people, I'd still feel alone.

I care about strangers when they're abstractions but feel almost nothing when they are literally in front of me. They seem like unnamed characters in a poorly written novel about myself, which was poorly written by me.

I disconnect the telephone to keep the outside world in it's correct place.

The club is too loud to talk, so after a couple of drinks, everyone feels like the centre of attention but completely cut off from participating with anyone else. You're the corpse in an English murder mystery.

This, and the club is too loud to talk, so after a couple of drinks, everyone feels like the center of attention but completely cut off from participating with anyone else. You're the corpse in an English murder mystery.

Es lo que ocurre en los casos de insomnio. Todo es muy lejano: la copia de la copia de una copia. No puedes tocar nada y nada puede tocarte. El insomnio te distancia de todo.

For how many generations now had his people been turning their backs on things? How long had they sat in their living rooms and watched other people die?

But he could not taste, he could not feel. In the teashop among the tables and the chattering waiters the appalling fear came over him- he could not feel. He could reason; he could read, Dante for example, quite easily…he could add up his bill; his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then- that he could not feel.

Ahora estoy suspendida en el vacío, sin vínculos. Estamos en la nada.

Kids in my history class pulled out their cell phones and turned them on. I did the same, and as we all lifted our heavy backpacks, the doors of every classroom clanked open and out flowed the river of students with phones clapped to their ears. Soon the quad was a sea of backpacks and people staring nervously into space as they had conversations with people who weren't there.

This is the paradox of weekends: "You have to set an appointment to go off the grid as surely as to go on it.

How long can men thrive between walls of brick, walking on asphalt pavements, breathing the fumes of coal and of oil, growing, working, dying, with hardly a thought of wind, and sky, and fields of grain, seeing only machine-made beauty, the mineral-like quality of life?

Nikada ljudi nisu tako puno komunicirali, nikada tako malo slušali jedni druge.

Pour fuir ce monde saturé d'écrans, mais vide d'intelligence.