Quotes About Emptiness

Everything I touched or did spoke to me of sadness. Each article of clothing—shirt, tie, jacket—felt cut out of different bolts of sadness, each a peculiar weave and shape and hang of sadness, as though sadness came in lots of styles.

He looked out over the shirtless, muscled, tanned men and realised that right here, on this disco floor, there was such a concentration of fashion, slimming, money, bleaching, plastic surgery, psychotherapy – and all for naught. In a few years they'd all be old walruses, and in a few more, dead.

It was all terrible and tiring and meaningless.

the lonely evening sound of the mothers, saying it is not our fault that we weep so, it is nature's fault that makes us first full, then empty.

If I could feel like myself I'd thank God but I don't feel and never will.

You are never out of my mind. I feel the cold more than I used to and this house is big

I am far from those I am with, and far from those I have left.

Maybe they are intended to be images about emptiness,' said the man solemnly. 'I think that's something the kids are very much in touch with right now.' 'How can you be in touch with emptiness?' asked Patrick.

He was an inconsolable wreck. He couldn't live with so much doubt and so much intensity. He vomited colostrum over his mother and then in the hazy moment of emptiness that followed, he caught sight of the curtains bulging with light. They held his attention. That's how it worked here. They fascinated you with things to make you forget about the separation.

Everything turns inward in depression. A beautiful flower momentarily catches your attention, but within seconds the focus bends back into your own misery. You see loved ones who are celebrating a recent blessing, but before you can synchronize your feelings with theirs, you have doubled back to your own personal emptiness. Like a boomerang that always returns, no matter how hard you try, you can't get away from yourself.

When I'm depressed, pain is my friend. I wallow in pain. It's what I am familiar with. I'll tell you that I hate my pain and that there is nothing good about it, but I still hold onto it. I'm so dead inside, so empty of any enthusiasm or hope. My pain reminds me that I'm alive. It allows me to be angry.

Here, though, there is nothing. Nothing at all. The sky seems empty even when I am looking at the moon and stars.

Instead I dreamt of walking out of the world, of spending all my time inside with no one to talk to, and no one to talk to me. All I wanted was a routine, a series of sterile acts that I could perform without dedication or effort, a life where everything was constantly the same, where every day passed exactly like the one before.

The lightness returned. That airless sensation of his body evaporating. Darline and Paris were fading, too. They were becoming distant longings, silhouettes, shadows fading on the ground. There are loves that outlive lovers.

For those we don't see For those who are not here.

Mother died today, or maybe it was yesterday.

Estar a su lado (que creo es, justamente, donde deseo estar) equivale a estar aún más solo.

Giornate che a metterle assieme e pigiarle tutte quante non ne uscirebbe una stilla di vita. Ma la vita è così: ammassata e secca, piena di avvenimenti sterili e ripetuti e sempre uguali e di cui si perde memoria. Spremi, e verrà fuori un pulviscolo di frustrazioni standard e un odore di fenolo, un polverizzarsi di garze faraoniche.

There is something curiously boring about somebody else's happiness.

Como quien no quiere la cosa. Ninguna cosa. Boca cosida. Párpados cosidos. Me olvidé. Adentro el viento. Todo cerrado y el viento adentro.

Y nadie o casi nadie es amado de la manera en que yo lo deseo —exceptuando algunos perros

Your eyes begin in my eyes which no longer see you. Begin in my voice which no longer speaks to you. Die out in my hands which no longer touch you. Your eyes are inscribed in my flesh. No one can bear to see me now. Sinister tattoo. I do the rain, I do the sun. For want of your eyes in my eyes.

but the day rains over the emptiness of everything

you don't speak you no longer speak to yourself even the she in the mirror has disappeared