Quotes About Emptiness

La ausencia de sonido puede ser peor que cualquier grito

I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.

ledsome adj. feeling lonely in a crowd; drifting along in a sea of anonymous faces but unable to communicate with or confide in any of them.

appriesse n. the feeling of loss that you never had the chance to meet a certain person before they died, which compels you to try to get to know them anyway, gathering snapshots and stories to build out a sketch of who they were, learning them like a character in a novel, which makes them feel all the more alive even though you've already skipped ahead and read the last page.

I want to keep the emptiness away, to realize the Sense of what it's like to be alive instead of just existing.

A train full of shadows. Of living ghosts. On a journey to nowhere.

The mess was three-quarters empty, but the dozen or more men at the bar seemed hell bent on making up for it by celebrating Christmas as loudly and as drunkenly as they could. It seemed a bleak variety of joy.

Troy had always thought of pipes as a way of passing off vacuity as thought, the hollow man's way of seeming less than hollow.

I can't describe the feeling when I go down – it's down down down and there's never going to be an up again. And whatever was good isn't good any more; white becomes grey, music becomes dictionaries, honey becomes beer and the sky a curdled lemon. There's no caramel anymore.

But it was my parents I longed for mostly. I wanted to be a little girl again and cuddle into them, wriggling in between them like I'd done in their bed when I was three or four, snug and warm in the safest place in the world. Instead I had Hell.

I feel like I'm dropping such a long way down again." "I seem to be dropping into a cold dark wet place, where no one's been before and noone can every follow. There's no future there; just a past that sometimes fools you into thinking it's the future. It's the most alone place you can ever be and, when you go there, you not only cease to exist in real life, you also cease to exist in their consciousness and in their memories.

I wondered if Ivan was asleep. It was terrible to think that he was in this city, possibly very nearby, but I couldn't see him or talk to him because he didn't love me. I couldn't be with him for one minute, not even for the weird leftover hours that nobody else wanted, like from one to three a.m. on a Wednesday.

I kept thinking about the uneven quality of time--the way it was almost always so empty, and then with no warning came a few days that felt so dense and alive and real that it seemed indisputable that that was what life was, that its real nature had finally been revealed. But then time passed and unthinkably grew dead again, and it turned out that that fullness had been an aberration and might never come back.

I can't pretend to know what it feels like to lose a child, but I assume it's the worst pain I've ever felt times a thousand, or times a hundred thousand.

Because Tarik was dead.

I couldn't be here anymore. I couldn't be in me. But I couldn't be anywhere else, either. I had nowhere else to go.

Indeed, martyrdom can be understood as one form of refusing the meaninglessness of death itself, of insisting that suffering and death do not signify emptiness and nothingness, which they might otherwise seem to imply.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow.

What would it do to your psyche if this were your sky? What would it do to the racial awareness of your species if this were their memory of their dirt-bound cradle, before they stepped out into the great emptiness beyond?

I felt even more hollow than I had.

There was the sense of something having been ripped from me; that heartbroken punch of loss without any memories to explain where it was coming from.

As they broke apart, the information safely handed over, the memory of the kiss left Dust full of an aching emptiness, everywhere his airborne nanoparticls drifted and spread.

The dead cast no shadows; nor did they reflect.

He sipped his wine and swirled it in the goblet, wishing bitterly that he could close the distance to the little cover by the fire and be one of them again. Wishing he could remember the touch of Will's hand, the press of Tom's mouth, without tasting the enormous soft emptiness that threatened to open like black wings and enfold him.