Quotes About Emptiness

With this darkness all around me, I like to be liked. In this emptiness and fear, I want to be wanted. Cause I love to be loved.

When I look at things, I always see the space they occupy. I always want the space to reappear, to make a comeback, because it's lost space when there's something in it.

I got my heart broken. My spirit got shattered and mutilated. I will not be coming back from this. I don't want to.

Can you imagine how it is, to want to be neither inside nor outside, to want to be nowhere and disappear?

You are alone when something like this happens. Doesn't matter how many people love you and want to help you. You are alone. When Marchent died, she was alone.

Sort of desolate, decayed, the smell of - I don't want to dramatise it - but death, you know. That is what it feels like, no-man's-land, and it is not a nice place to be.

Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in that existence which is given away to others, for want of something of your own to bestow it on?

Nobody wants to phone me, Even collect.

Then teach me how to not care about someone who was everything to me. All I want is to know she's okay. Is that too much to ask?

There is no point in honoring the dead. I have seen too much to believe otherwise. Grieve for lost potential, the end of possibilities, the eternally silence demise of promise. Grieve for that, Fear Sengar, and you will understand, finally, how grief is but a mirror, held close to one's own face.

A soul carries a vessel of courage. It cannot be refilled. Every thing that takes from it leaves less behind.

I have my throne, I have my sword, I have an empire. But I have . . . no-one.

Worse, this vast sense of loss … without the ability to trust – anyone. Without that, what do I see in the life awaiting me? Naught but solitude, and thus, nothing of value.

I am not empty inside. I am not at peace.' The word seemed to startle him. 'Peace? I spoke not of peace. In absence, Korya, there is yearning.' His strange eyes focused on her. 'Do you not so yearn?

My arms wrapped about little Jala, little sister, hot with fever but the fire grew too hot, and so, in my arms, her flesh cooled to dawn-stone, mother keening—Jala was the ember now lifeless, and from that day, in mother's eyes, I became naught but its bed of ash.

The wine is gone. Only sour wine fumes remain. Drunkenness pretends to resolution.

To love in absence is to float on ever still waters. No sudden currents, no treacherous tides, no possibility of drowning.

The sky cares nothing for you, dear one. The stars don't even see you.

They each mourn alone, even when in the same place. Grief is the most solitary of all feelings. Grief isolates, and every ritual, every gesture, every embrace, is a hopeless effort to break through that isolation. None of it works. The forms crumble and dissolve. To face death is to stand alone.

I can make you blind and senseless to them, but it'll be in your nature to fret about that strange emptiness. As if you're always on the edge of realization, but never able to reach it. It could drive you to distraction, Acquitor. Besides, the body remembers. You'll react to things you see, smell, taste, and you won't know why. It'll gnaw away at you. Your whole personality will change.

I am done with this world, for I am alone in it. Alone.

We will ourselves empty to numb us to our cruelty. We stiffen our faces and say we have needs. But to be empty is to have no purchase, nothing to grasp on to, and so in the emptiness we slide and we slide.

For himself, Rallick, such gifts had long since been lost, and he was not the kind of man to stir the ashes. No embers survived, no flame could be born anew. Life belonged to other people, and his only claim to it was his power to take it from them. Nor would he recognise hope if it came to him. Too much a stranger, too long a ghost.

Man and woman both, there was an age that, when reached, made the world beyond seem to fall away, drained of colour, devoid of significance. To live as a thing no longer desired but tolerated, at best humoured. To reach that age was to know the light in the eyes dimming – the first spark to wink out, and from that moment on, the shadows just crept ever closer.