Quotes About Emptiness

So this is it ? what cost me all that time. A man who turned out to be old, a house that turned out to be empty.

And Alex understood that Scotty Hausmann did not exist. He was a word casing in human form: a shell whose essence has vanished.

All her excitement had seeped away, leaving behind a terrible sadness, an emptiness that felt violent, as if she'd been gouged.

STEPHEN O'CONNOR Next to Nothing

After eight years in the same one-bedroom apartment, I was suddenly finding it crowded beyond capacity. There was me. There was my unrecognizable face. And there was someone else. It was neither a child nor an animal. It was Despair.

He sensed between them an understanding too deep to articulate: the unspeakable knowledge that everything is lost.

They were open but empty-looking, like the windows of a house no one lived in. At

I began to settle down. The sun was low, the light rosy, the scrubby flora a parched, iridescent silver. The emptiness of the desert felt biblical, as if nothing had ever happened there—as if all of history were yet to come.

I understand now that nothing will ever happen between M and me, precisely because it has just come so close to happening and yet not happened.

I had the worst feeling, when I hung up, that I had missed the purpose of our conversation, that we both had. We had been apart for so long and no longer knew how to speak, other than as strangers. How are you feeling? we said, but what we meant was, Where are you? who are you now? Are you still in there?

She lay awake and thought of her mother, gone forever. There was no one else she wanted to tell.

Sometimes, I felt like if I could just fold up into a small enough ball, my body would collapse on itself like a star, and I could supernova myself into a new existence.

There was nothing left. Nothing of him, and nothing of me.

I understand now that Martin has never known the real me. There is only one person who ever did—who saw all of me, all the beauty along with the ugliness. And it is that person I long for now. Auntie.

The truth was, she liked the sparse look of bare countertops and shelves; the empty white walls felt like a clean slate.

This is what I know about loss. It doesn't get better. You just get (somewhat) used to it.

Suddenly I'm having one of those moments that you have after losing someone—when you feel as if you've been kicked in the stomach and all your breath is gone, and you might never get it back. I want to sit down on the dirty, littered ground right now and cry until I can't cry anymore.

Because after suffering a loss, you become a ghost in your own body. You observe yourself doing things and saying things that you might not normally do or say. You need something to ground you and prove to you that you're still here. As a way of feeling something. Anything.

Trapped behind the wall I've built around myself, unable to move or breathe or do anything but keep building it up around me, brick by brick, fast as I can.

Besides,in that instant we went plowing through the guardrail, my words died too.

There's no rush of having survived, only emptiness, and lungs that need air, and wet hair sticking to my face.

You are not alone.'... I tell him, Actually I am, which is part of the problem; we are all alone, trapped in these bodies and our own minds, and whatever company we have in this life is only fleeting and superficial.

I can only tell you how I felt. Ugly. disgusting. Stupid. Small. Worthless. Forgotten. It just feels like there's no choice. Like it's the most logical thing to do because what else is there? You think, No one will even miss me. They won't know I'm gone. The world will go on, and it won't matter that I'm not here. Maybe it's better if I was never here.

I'm Fading, Maybe I'm Gone Already.