Quotes About Emptiness

People don't realize how desolate you feel. How this ache never goes; it's like a weight in the middle of the body, a bad ache in the gut every single day. And the thing is, it's not simply a case of missing a person--it's missing everything that came with that person.

I'm always wondering if he'll return. Sometimes I pray that he doesn't. And sometimes I hope he will. I wish on falling stars and eyelashes. Absence isn't solid the way death is. It's fluid, like language. And it hurts so much...so, so much.

Porque quererse es un castigo y es un abismo vivir juntos.

I live for the few minutes I can talk with a sensible human being, but every time I do, I feel worse than before.

Despair = Suffering - Meaning.

Somebody, said Jacques, your father or mine, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour - and in the oddest places! - for the lack of it.

There is a fearful splendor in absolute desolation.

not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour… – for the lack of it.

You smiled at me the way you smiled at everyone, you told me what you told everyone—and you tell nothing but lies. What are you always hiding? And do you think I did not know when you made love to me, you were making love to no one? No one! Or everyone—but not me, certainly. I am nothing to you, nothing, and you bring me fever but no delight.

And my mind was empty—or it was as though my mind had become one enormous, anaesthetized wound. I thought only, One day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry

Where is your life, Gabriel?' she asked, after a despairing pause, 'Where is it? Ain't it all done gone for nothing? Where's your branches? Where's your fruit?' He said nothing; insistently, she tapped the letter with her thumbnail.

your father or mine, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour—and in the oddest places!—for the lack of it.

I am nothing to you, nothing, and you bring me fever but no delight.

Somebody,' said Jacques, 'your father or mind, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour —and in the oddest places!—for the lack of it

His face looked as though it were plunging into water. I couldn't touch him. I wanted so to touch him. ... But he was far away from me now, all by himself. I waited for him to come back.

Somebody,' [...] should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour [...] for the lack of it.

Touch, but no contact. All touch, but no contact and no light.

I remember that life in that room seemed to be occurring beneath the sea. Time flowed past indifferently above us; hours and days had no meaning.

The vastness of the desert frightened her. Everything looked too far away, even the couldless sky. There was nowhere you could hide in such emptiness.

If you allow Their chill to reach Into the great, great deep, You become one with them, Inarticulate.

It is not what they built. It is what they knocked down. It is not the houses. It is the spaces between the houses. It is not the streets that exist. It is the streets that no longer exist.

We are called upon to live Christ's life. We are called into the desert to meet the demon within. We are called to face God alone in the night of our own solitude. We are called to die with Jesus, in order to live with him. We are asked to lose all, to be emptied out, in order to be filled with the very fullness of God.

I want to run or die or get fucked up. I want to be blind and dumb and have no heart. I want to crawl in a hole and never come out. I want to wipe my existence straight off the map. Straight off the fucking map.

I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I fucking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I'd see her again.