Best 2736 quotes in «loneliness quotes» category

Talking to strangers sounded like talking to no one, which Henry had some firsthand experience in- in real life. It was lonely. Almost as lonely as Lake View Cemetery, where he'd buried Ethel.

Technology has sanded away the necessity and inconvenience of interacting with other human beings: We can work from home, order groceries online, stream movies from bed. At the same time, the percentage of Americans who participate in social groups—whether it be social clubs, sports teams, community centers, volunteer organizations, or religious groups—has fallen, Holt-Lunstad says. In a dizzying number of ways, modern life is designed to disengage us from one another.

Tell me, Nana, If for example we had been a love couple, Would a hug have been enough to wash away my sadness? Or then; does every single being carry this loneliness, like a burden? I wans't intending to monopolizing you I just wanted you to need me.

Tenderhearted people are silent sufferers they just learn the art to fly with broken wings.

Tessa: Are all vampires like that? Cold like that? Charlotte: Many of them have been alive a long time. They don't see things the way we do.

That autumn, I kept coming back to Hopper’s images, drawn to them as if they were blueprints and I was a prisoner; as if they contained some vital clue about my state. Though I went with my eyes over dozens of rooms, I always returned to the same place: to the New York diner of Nighthawks, a painting that Joyce Carol Oates once described as “our most poignant, ceaselessly replicated romantic image of American loneliness”... Green shadows were falling in spikes and diamonds on the sidewalk. There is no colour in existence that so powerfully communicates urban alienation, the atomisation of human beings inside the edifices they create, as this noxious pallid green, which only came into being with the advent of electricity, and which is inextricably associated with the nocturnal city, the city of glass towers, of empty illuminated offices and neon signs.

That none discussed their doubts, that they assumed everyone else was just having a grand time of it and felt at ease and enjoying the ride, was perhaps the most toxic element to this particular kind of noisy loneliness.

-That's kind of sad. -I used to think so. Now I think: you're born a certain way. Later you get to decide how much you want to fight/change that. I don't mind being alone. -You must mind. If you didn't you wouldn't be doing this with me.

That’s what meditation is all about, to be capable of being alone. And remember, aloneness is not loneliness. Loneliness is the state of the person who cannot live alone; loneliness means you are dependent on the crowd, on the other. Aloneness means you are happy with yourself, you are not dependent on anybody. The moment you are not dependent you are an emperor, you are a god, a goddess. Now you have something to share, you can go into the world.

That’s why I was calm. When you woke me in the middle of the night with your hand around my throat, and I thought I was going to die for bringing you home—that I had given my life to lie down next to a murderer—that’s why I was calm. Because all I was thinking in that moment was that it was worth it.

The abundance of small things, it'll bury you.

The animals feel that this urgency is mutual. Their own suffering has made them aware of human suffering. More frequent contact with us has sensitized them to what troubles us. They feel our anxiety and our confusion and, most of all, our loneliness. The pain of being disconnected from the Earth, from each other, from our fellow creatures, and from the Source of all life is the worst pain they can imagine, and they are concerned about us. They understand even better than we do that the suffering we inflict on them is an expression of our own suffering, and that their physical situation cannot get better unless the human spiritual condition gets better. They want to help.

The barriers between animal and human come down very easily. We belong to a single great family, and if we are lonely and unhappy we gladly accept the friendship of our distant relations.

The best remedy for those who are frightened, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere they can be alone, alone with the sky, nature and God. For then and only then can you feel that everything is as it should be and that God wants people to be happy amid nature's beauty and simplicity. As long as this exists, and that should be for ever, I know that there will be solace for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances. I firmly believe that nature can bring comfort to all who suffer.

THE Biggest enemy of Truth is known as Facts in our Society

The biggest enemy of your loneliness is only your life partner.

The dead are my dark matter, filling up impalpably the empty spaces of the world.

The bodies state of red alert brings about a series of psychological changes, driven by gathering tides of adrenaline or cortisol. These are the fight or flight hormones, which act to help and organism respond to external stresses. But when a stress is chronic not acute, when it persists for years and is caused by something that cannot be outrun, then these biochemical alterations wreak havoc on the body. Lonely people are restless sleepers and experience a reduction in the restorative function of sleep. Loneliness drives up blood pressure, accelerates ageing, weakens the immune system and acts as a precursor to cognitive decline. According to a 2010 study, "Loneliness predicts increased morbidity and mortality". Which is an elegant way of saying that loneliness can prove fatal.

The corner doesn't mind listening to the stupid things I say; Sometimes it's the only one keeping me from running away. And the corner never tells me things I'd rather never know; We became the best of friends long, long, long ago.

The desert around him was completed. He was already untamed, now he became wild. -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC

The dictionary explained that the expression mother-soul-abandoned alone was derived from people-soul-abandoned alone and served to emotionally reinforce the adjective. A being that has been abandoned by a mother’s soul, you deduced, is one that has been abandoned by all others or even by the very soul itself and is, therefore, not only lonely but also downright damned to remaining forever expelled, with neither help nor home, speechless and therefore soulless, full of mute rage and yet filled to the brim with words that it would scream.

The cheese stands alone The cheese stands alone Heigh-ho the merry-o The cheese stands alone

[T]he conviction grew in him that the earth and the sky knew he was there and also felt friendly; so he was not really alone, and not really entirely lonely.

The creature may not haste above the maker; neither may the world hold them at once that shall be created therein.

The deeper the solitude the less the sense of loneliness, and the nearer our friends.

The dog upstairs won't shut up, but I can't hate him, he's up there alone all day, making noise must be the only way he knows he's not a ghost.

The emptiness made her insides ache.

The endless ocean was his sole companion , and on some deeply sentimental level, it seemed sufficient. Almost apt. He aligned himself with Thoreau and Tolstoy, he felt like their peers. The kinship with nature devoted humans to a mythical state, a heightened persona beyond the reach of mere mortals. At least that was what he told himself on the lonely nights when insomnia played on his fears and the howling wind pierced through his soul.

The essential reason for my loneliness is that I don't even know where I belong.

The flowers that you compile with all your efforts are accepted. So that there is no shame, they throw them away in a place no one else can see. -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC

The high is what you crave, what you would kill for... and believe me, you will lie to yourself until it's to late to stop.

The Garden If no one loves her Please, love you Even if she’s a wreckage Or lost, in a predetermined path Or broken, by a perfect love Or loved, by your sacrificial loneliness Please, build her Even when you have no stone Or judge her abysmal tombstone Or her nothingness collapses your passion Water her azaleas Out of frozen concrete From sublime bottles No one full, ever knew how to fill. Jenim Dibie

The Geranium When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail, She looked so limp and bedraggled, So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle, Or a wizened aster in late September, I brought her back in again For a new routine - Vitamins, water, and whatever Sustenance seemed sensible At the time: she'd lived So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer, Her shriveled petals falling On the faded carpet, the stale Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves. (Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.) The things she endured!- The dumb dames shrieking half the night Or the two of us, alone, both seedy, Me breathing booze at her, She leaning out of her pot toward the window. Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me- And that was scary- So when that snuffling cretin of a maid Threw her, pot and all, into the trash-can, I said nothing. But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week, I was that lonely.

The grain of evil seed had been sown in the heart of Adam from the beginning, and how much ungodliness had it brought up unto this time? and how much shall it yet bring forth until the time of threshing come?

The greatest futility! says the congregator, "The greatest futility! Everything is futile!" What does a person gain from all his hard work- At which he toils under the sun? A generation goes and another cometh forth, but the earth remains the same.

The greatest tragedy is not death but a life without love

The house is eerily quiet. All this time I thought silence would be a welcome reprieve, but it's less comforting than I imagined. The house feels so much bigger and colder than it ever has.

The Idea of Ghost, like the Idea of North. A mere looped whisper, in darkness or in light. And no matter what this person may have been like before he or she died, no matter what they--specifically--might have wanted, ghosts only really want one thing: you, with them. Not to be alone. Not to be trapped. Not to be where they are. Not to be.

The Girl does not dream. The Girl has never dreamed.

The house was left; the house was deserted. It was left like a shell on a sandhill to fill with dry salt grains now that life had left it. The long life seemed to have set in; the trifling airs, nibbling, the clammy breaths, fumbling, seemed to have triumphed. ..

The hush of the night sky is the silence of a graveyard.

the idea of being invisibly alone in a crowd of strangers is so tempting for a number of introverts...or maybe for loneliness?

The joy we feel to be together seems worthy of a fairy tale, from the moment our eyes met we felt the crush of love. This is not a passing infatuation, ours is love of truth.

The kind of society we live in can contribute to loneliness. Mobility and constant change tend to make some individuals feel rootless and disconnected.

The land, that thou see now to have root, shall thou see wasted suddenly.

The loneliness felt like an infection I couldn't shake, something hollowing me out from the inside. It wasn't the longing for him that hurt the most; it was the gnawing feeling that no one wanted me and I had no idea when, or if, that would ever change.

The loneliness of difference, the loneliness of undesirability, the loneliness of not being admitted into the magic circles of connection and acceptance – the social and professional groupings, the embracing arms.

The loneliest thing in the world is lying awake beside someone asleep. ~ "The November Story

The Loneliness of the Military Historian Confess: it's my profession that alarms you. This is why few people ask me to dinner, though Lord knows I don't go out of my way to be scary. I wear dresses of sensible cut and unalarming shades of beige, I smell of lavender and go to the hairdresser's: no prophetess mane of mine, complete with snakes, will frighten the youngsters. If I roll my eyes and mutter, if I clutch at my heart and scream in horror like a third-rate actress chewing up a mad scene, I do it in private and nobody sees but the bathroom mirror. In general I might agree with you: women should not contemplate war, should not weigh tactics impartially, or evade the word enemy, or view both sides and denounce nothing. Women should march for peace, or hand out white feathers to arouse bravery, spit themselves on bayonets to protect their babies, whose skulls will be split anyway, or,having been raped repeatedly, hang themselves with their own hair. There are the functions that inspire general comfort. That, and the knitting of socks for the troops and a sort of moral cheerleading. Also: mourning the dead. Sons,lovers and so forth. All the killed children. Instead of this, I tell what I hope will pass as truth. A blunt thing, not lovely. The truth is seldom welcome, especially at dinner, though I am good at what I do. My trade is courage and atrocities. I look at them and do not condemn. I write things down the way they happened, as near as can be remembered. I don't ask why, because it is mostly the same. Wars happen because the ones who start them think they can win. In my dreams there is glamour. The Vikings leave their fields each year for a few months of killing and plunder, much as the boys go hunting. In real life they were farmers. The come back loaded with splendour. The Arabs ride against Crusaders with scimitars that could sever silk in the air. A swift cut to the horse's neck and a hunk of armour crashes down like a tower. Fire against metal. A poet might say: romance against banality. When awake, I know better. Despite the propaganda, there are no monsters, or none that could be finally buried. Finish one off, and circumstances and the radio create another. Believe me: whole armies have prayed fervently to God all night and meant it, and been slaughtered anyway. Brutality wins frequently, and large outcomes have turned on the invention of a mechanical device, viz. radar. True, valour sometimes counts for something, as at Thermopylae. Sometimes being right - though ultimate virtue, by agreed tradition, is decided by the winner. Sometimes men throw themselves on grenades and burst like paper bags of guts to save their comrades. I can admire that. But rats and cholera have won many wars. Those, and potatoes, or the absence of them. It's no use pinning all those medals across the chests of the dead. Impressive, but I know too much. Grand exploits merely depress me. In the interests of research I have walked on many battlefields that once were liquid with pulped men's bodies and spangled with exploded shells and splayed bone. All of them have been green again by the time I got there. Each has inspired a few good quotes in its day. Sad marble angels brood like hens over the grassy nests where nothing hatches. (The angels could just as well be described as vulgar or pitiless, depending on camera angle.) The word glory figures a lot on gateways. Of course I pick a flower or two from each, and press it in the hotel Bible for a souvenir. I'm just as human as you. But it's no use asking me for a final statement. As I say, I deal in tactics. Also statistics: for every year of peace there have been four hundred years of war.

The lonely suffer from this most: to mistake attention for love.