Quotes About Emptiness

Missing rubs the soul raw.

My shell collection Here are my shells, orderly to the eye, mysterious to the mind. Some are rough and grainy, others are soft and pearly. Mine are all empty, but out in the sea there are empty ones too – as many as there are full. When the creatures emerge, they leave part of themselves behind. That is why I think of these spirals as living though they are asleep in their forms.

And when I don't feel it, it's pointless. Think about getting up it's pointless. Think about eating it's pointless. Think about dressing it's pointless. Think about speaking it's pointless. Think about dying only it's totally fucking pointless.

I've never in my life had a problem giving another person what they want. But no one's ever been able to do that for me. No one touches me, no one gets near me. But now you've touched me somewhere so fucking deep I can't believe and I can't be that for you. Because I can't find you.

M The heat is going out of me. C The heart is going out of me. B I feel nothing, nothing. I feel nothing.

I sing without hope on the boundary

Burning in a hot tunnel of dismay, my humiliation complete as I shake without reason and stumble over words and have nothing to say about my 'illness' which anyway amounts only to knowing that there's no point in anything because I'm going to die.

Tu me remplis la tête comme ne savent le faire que les absents

There's not a drug on earth can make life meaningful

If you died it would be like my bones had been removed. No one would know why, but I would collapse.

I'm tired of my life and my mind wants to die.

How strange, that when you are away, I reach for my cell phone's buzz as if it were your hand. Each shiver in my pocket, a way to find you.

No matter how she beseeched the stars for guidance, their light remained far awar and cold; they provided no answers and no comfort.

Being forgotten like that, entering that great and ongoing blank, seems more like death than death.

Maybe the trouble is that the shape of life is elastic, that it can feel and be full at variable levels of fullness. Or maybe we're poor judges of our own lives' fullness. Or maybe the concepts of emptiness and fullness are poor metaphors for happiness, if in fact happiness is what we're talking about. ?

Depression doesn't just steal the depressed person's capacity for joy. It throws its mantle over everything he has ever done and everything he could ever do. The depressed person dies not to save himself from the world but to save the world from himself. In this case the word depression makes clear sense; he is pressed down, forever.

There is another kind of suffering, though, a pure agony, free from thought.

I can hear broken edges, failures, a great emptiness where there should be beauty. I can hear a faint, sobbing thread of song, running through the desolution like a tickle of tainted water through a battlefield strewn with corpses. It is all my fault. I cannot remember how or why, but I can feel my guilt in everything I touch.

I felt as if I walked inside a cold shadow, a shadow cast by bricks and mortar.

There are no gardens in the Mirador. Only graveyards.

I have followed Hamlet for so long, so blindly. Now that he is gone, I do not remember how to walk on my own.

When a person has to put down and pick up their own plate, cook alone and eat alone and wash up alone, then stare at an empty chair, well, there is no breath. Earl

Emptiness and loneliness consume you. Physically you're alive, but mentally you're dying inside.

Oh, but this,' I think I say, 'is perfect! This is all I have longed for! What are you gazing at? Do you suppose a girl is sitting here? That girl is lost! She has been drowned! She is lying, fathoms deep. Do you think she has arms and legs, with flesh and cloth upon them? Do you think she has hair? She has only bones, stripped white! She is as white as a page of paper! She is a book, from which the words have peeled and drifted--