Quotes About Emptiness

A man who keeps a diary pays, Due toll to many tedious days; But life becomes eventful--then, His busy hand forgets the pen. Most books, indeed, are records less Of fulness than of emptiness.

Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a Summer's day; Sweet Love is dead.

Who can enjoy acting in an empty theater ?

I hate journalists. There is nothing in them but tittering jeering emptiness. They have all made what Dante calls the Great Refusal. The shallowest people on the ridge of the earth.

nothing in them but tittering jeering emptiness.

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.

Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!

Absence from whom we love is worse than death.

Love within my being. You lived with me, breath of my breath, Being in my being, nor left my side; But now the wheel of Time has turned And you are gone – no joys abide. You

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely.

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely.

You always was a skinny child but turn sideways you just ain't there atall.

So it's true: Being without Being is blue.

One thing—one thing exceeds the eternity of the star, he cries, and that is the dark which surrounds it.

He hated winter. The same gray sky lay on the ground, day after day, gray as industrial smoke, and in the sky the ground floated like a street that's been salted, and his closets were cold, holes wore through his pockets, and he was lonely, indoors and out, with a loneliness like the loneliness of overshoes or someone else's cough.

few odd souls wandered about Surf Avenue looking for something to do. Sheets of newspaper blew like tumbleweed down broad, empty streets. Overhead, a pair of sea gulls hovered, scanning the ground for discarded scraps. All along the avenue, cotton candy stands, fun houses, and games of chance were tightly shuttered, like clowns without makeup. Nathan

NOTHING IS EVER everything, but the loss of a true love feels that way. All-consuming. The blackest hole. The emptiest place in the universe.

Sam's Place had never felt so empty. He suspected the emptiness was not in the old Quonset hut; it was in him. There was nothing in him now, nothing but the great emptiness of death, which he seemed to carry with him like a virus.

He was no stranger to brutal death. Both as sheriff and as a cop on Chicago's south side, he'd seen his share of dying. Murder, accident, overdose - it happened in many ways, but the end was the same. Something sad and confusing left behind. Only the shape of life, only the empty outline.

There was no point in looking again. He [Cork] knew that. No point except to feed the coldness inside him. In a strange way, that was exactly what he wanted now. He wanted to feed himself to the cold until the cold had consumed him and he didn't care anymore.

The daytime. The nighttime. Eating. Just lying here thinking. Nothing feels right. I keep waiting for her to come up the stairs and poke her head into our room and, you know, goof around with us." "I know what you mean," I said. "What do we do, Frank?" "I think we just keep going on. We keep doing what we always do and someday it'll feel right again." "Will it? Really?" "Yeah, I think so.

Whenever hope packed its bag and left for good, all that remained was a terrible emptiness, immeasurably sad.

Grief doesn't come in the moment of loss. It comes in the quiet of the aftermath...she didn't feel grief. In a way, what she felt was emptiness. Her mind told her he was dead. Her heart was not there yet.

wouldn't talk to you." Cork