Best 2736 quotes in «loneliness quotes» category

A world without music is only filled with sounds in the air

A writer is never alone, he is always with himself

A writer makes a pact with loneliness. It is her, or his, beach on which waves of desire, wild mind, speculation break. In my work, in my life, I am always moving toward and away from aloneness. To write is to refuse to cover up the rawness of being alive, of facing death.

A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. He isn't telling, or teaching, or ordering. Rather, he seeks to establish a relationship with meaning, of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all our live trying to be less lonesome. And one of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say, and to feel, "Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought." To finish is sadness to a writer, a little death. He puts the last word down and it is done. But it isn't really done. The story goes on and leaves the writer behind, for no story is ever done.

Back at home I spent so much time on my own, but never once felt lonely. Here, even though I see hundreds more people each day, I've never felt lonelier.

Barbaric is letting the woman suffer to be alone for the rest of her life.

Beauty becomes tinged with sadness when experienced alone.

Because how could he have done this? How could he have chosen to leave me here all alone?

Because in our pain we must find each other – mirror to mirror the grace of our shared humanity, the stunningly broken beauty of our shared grief. And you can let your grief see my grief and let our tears mingle into some kind of healing alchemy, and you’ll know what i know. That we are never alone. I promise. You and me? We are never, ever alone.

Because I know what it's like to feel alone. I know what it's like to live in a paper world, to be good at hurting people, to think everybody should just shut up and do what you say. And then I remember that deep down, people are good, everybody's trying, and nobody deserves respect just for being powerful. So if I've got the voice in my head that tells me to crush people, then I think you probably have the voice that says the other thing too. If people keep calling us heroes and villains, they'll never know how close we came to listening to the other voice all those times.

Because in some men, it is in them to give up everything personal at some time, before it ferments and poisons - throw it to some human being or some human idea.

Because it hardly ends with falling in love. Just the opposite. I don't need to tell you, Your Honor, I sense that you understand true loneliness. How you fall in love and it's there that the work begins: day after day, year after year, you must dig yourself up, exhume the contents of your mind and sould for the other to sift through so that you might be known to him, and you, too, must spend days and years wading through all that he excavates for you alone, the archaeology of his being, how exhausting it became, the digging up and the wading through, while my own work, my true work, lay waiting for me. Yes, I always thought there would be more time left for me, more time left for us, and for the child we might one day have, but I never felt that my work could be put aside as they could, my husband and the idea of our child, a little boy or girl that I sometimes even tried to imagine, but always only vaguely enough that he or she remained a ghostly emissary of our future, just her back while she sat playing with her blocks on the floor, or just his feet sticking out of the blanket on our bed, a tiny pair of feet. What of it, there would be time for them, for the life they stood for, the one I was not yet prepared to live because I had not yet done what I had meant to do in this one.

Because it's so hard to be kind to the world when all you've ever felt is hate.

[...] because she wanted to be alone while surrounded by people.

Because sometimes it’s being in a crowd that makes you feel lonelier than when you’re alone.

Be faithful to the unknown, plan for it by expecting it rather than waiting for it to knock you down. I believe your husband will take care of you, for he is a hardworking sensible man, but Jane, I had no one to look out for me when I was growing up, or when I had you all to myself, it did not make me rudderless, cynical or pacifist, but it did make me feel extremely alone. It blinded me, I did not know what to make of it. No person in life can fill up that feeling, no matter how many workers we have or friends to call on, or women fluttering about, you are in this alone, you have to be all you can be in this life, and no one can make it happen for you, it is necessary to be lonely every once in a while, it is even good, but there is a difference in being alone and being helpless. If you let yourself be helpless, if you find yourself in such a predicament where you feel there is no way out, then you will be crushed whether you are a flower or a mountain. And you must not allow yourself to be crushed." - Mr. Adams to daughter Jane

Before that experience, I had often felt the kind of alone that comes from the suspicion that you are not only genetically different from those around you, but different in your very soul...[then] I was a different kind of alone. I was alone and ashamed of myself...it was no one's fault but mine.

Begin. . . where you are, NOT where you want to be. Begin stuck in the doldrums of your false story--if that is where you are. Begin there because, in truth, there is no other place to start from. Tell yourself that you are going to listen for the sound of your own voice--and remind yourself when you forget. And you will forget, over and over again.

Be good and you will be lonesome.

Behind this smile in my face Lies the dark shadow of emptiness Hiding from your eyes within my gaze Concealed with sham happiness.

Behold, O Lord, yet art thou nigh unto them that be reserved till the end: and what shall they do that have been before me, or we that be now, or they that shall come after us?

being alone you decided, was a magnificent miracle. nothing else made any sense at all. —escape

Being all alone is like the feeling you get when you stand at the mouth of a large river on a rainy evening and watch the water flow into the sea. Have you ever done that? Stand at the mouth of a large river and watch the water flow into the sea?

Being alone is more painful than getting hurt.

Being bored is the price we pay for not being insane.

Being alone never bothered me back then. I'd step out into my yard at any hour with a cold beer and a feeling like I could walk as far as I'd like and be just fine, nobody to hurt me, nobody I could use to hurt myself.

Being brave and being alone aren't the same thing.

Being in a relationship should not feel like being in prison.

Being Wise & Being Smart are two different things anyone can be smart but those who master the art of knowing what to overlook in this journey called life deserves to be called Wise

Believe me, I know what it's like to feel all alone...the worst kind of loneliness in the world is the isolation that comes from being misunderstood, It can make people lose their grasp on reality.

Betty realized that when it came to relationships with other human beings, she would always feel alone. And yet there was this place – this small special place inside of her – a place where quiet beauty was embraced, a place where memories became fantasies and where fantasies became memories. Like a pebble, Betty could lose herself within this place, this opulent ocean, and yet even if the water were to one day reject her too, even if it were to cast her back up onto its shores, she knew that she would catch the light of the sun again.

Betrayal is too kind a word to describe a situation in which a father says he loves his daughter but claims he must teach her about the horrors of the world in order to make her a stronger person; a situation in which he watches or participates in rituals that make her feel like she is going to die. She experiences pain that is so intense that she cannot think; her head spins so fast she can't remember who she is or how she got there. All she knows is pain. All she feels is desperation. She tries to cry out for help, but soon learns that no one will listen. No matter how loud she cries, she can't stop or change what is happening. No matter what she does, the pain will not stop. Her father orders her to be tortured and tells her it is for her own good. He tells her that she needs the discipline, or that she has asked for it by her misbehavior. Betrayal is too simple a word to describe the overwhelming pain, the overwhelming loneliness and isolation this child experiences. As if the abuse during the rituals were not enough, this child experiences similar abuse at home on a daily basis. When she tries to talk about her pain, she is told that she must be crazy. "Nothing bad has happened to you;' her family tells her Each day she begins to feel more and more like she doesn't know what is real. She stops trusting her own feelings because no one else acknowledges them or hears her agony. Soon the pain becomes too great. She learns not to feel at all. This strong, lonely, desperate child learns to give up the senses that make all people feel alive. She begins to feel dead. She wishes she were dead. For her there is no way out. She soon learns there is no hope. As she grows older she gets stronger. She learns to do what she is told with the utmost compliance. She forgets everything she has ever wanted. The pain still lurks, but it's easier to pretend it's not there than to acknowledge the horrors she has buried in the deepest parts of her mind. Her relationships are overwhelmed by the power of her emotions. She reaches out for help, but never seems to find what she is looking for The pain gets worse. The loneliness sets in. When the feelings return, she is overcome with panic, pain, and desperation. She is convinced she is going to die. Yet, when she looks around her she sees nothing that should make her feel so bad. Deep inside she knows something is very, very wrong, but she doesn't remember anything. She thinks, "Maybe I am crazy.

Beware! devil occupies your soul with forbidden desires

Beyond the boundaries of herself, her parents and the enclosing garden walls, were open fields and other waiting places she still knew nothing of – lies of the land, perhaps. What Katie did know is that out there in the lonely nowhere was a special quietness, free of the sounds of daytime birds or foxes at night – and that it was a quietness she might like to listen to one day.

Biker George says you're not alone anywhere when you know The One who's with you everywhere.

Bizzarra la vita. C'è chi t'imprigiona per giorni in un pensiero, poi giri l’angolo e qualcuno ti libera con un sorriso.

The Moon And, like a dying lady lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insane And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose up in the murky east A white and shapeless mass. Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?

Blessed with so many resources within myself the world was not necessary to me. I could do very well without it.

Blood shall drop out of wood, and the stone shall give his voice, and the people shall be troubled:

Ma Solitude Pour avoir si souvent dormi Avec ma solitude Je m'en suis fait presqu'une amie Une douce habitude Ell' ne me quitte pas d'un pas Fidèle comme une ombre Elle m'a suivi çà et là Aux quatre coins du monde Non, je ne suis jamais seul Avec ma solitude Quand elle est au creux de mon lit Elle prend toute la place Et nous passons de longues nuits Tous les deux face à face Je ne sais pas vraiment jusqu'où Ira cette complice Faudra-t-il que j'y prenne goût Ou que je réagisse? Non, je ne suis jamais seul Avec ma solitude Par elle, j'ai autant appris Que j'ai versé de larmes Si parfois je la répudie Jamais elle ne désarme Et si je préfère l'amour D'une autre courtisane Elle sera à mon dernier jour Ma dernière compagne Non, je ne suis jamais seul Avec ma solitude

But a lonely man is an unnatural man, and soon comes to perplexity. From perplexity to fantasy. From fantasy to madness.

But also . . . I have plenty of people around me to talk to, and no one to be honest with.

Books are my refuge. I can crawl into the space between the pages and curl my back to loneliness.

Booksellers are the most valuable destination for the lonely, given the numbers of books written because authors couldn't find anyone to talk to.

Books make the best ersatz friendships.

Broken souls don’t ever really heal, they just hide out in small remote corners of their psyches and smile to hide their pain”. Copyright February 05, 2018

Bukowski was dead wrong, the man was drunk most likely when he said this. Sometimes you get so fucking lonely that it makes no sense whatsoever. That sense losses meaning and usage, that meaning losses context as the sky pushes down upon you and threatens you to act a little more like your fellow human beings or else it'll cut your throat. When one is this lonely insanity is the only logical route and im on it quite well.

But every time I near sleep, I'm scared shitless. Because the memories are coming faster now, pouring through me, as if I've broken the handle on the faucet. They are coming, no matter how much is hurts. And all I can do is hold my breath and try not to drown.

But how much love, oh, Lord, how much love I experienced at times in those dreams of mine, in those “escapes into everything beautiful and sublime.” Even though it was fantastic love, even though it was never directed at anything human, there was still so much love that afterward, in reality, I no longer felt any impulse to direct it: that would have been an unnecessary luxury.

But he also knew that, as much as he wanted to aid and console the soldier, he wanted to be alone in his room with the night coming down and a book close by and pen and paper and the knowledge that the door would remain shut until the morning came and he would ne be disturbed. The gap between these two desires filled him with sadness and awe at the mystery of the self, the mystery of having a single consciousness, knowing merely its own bare feelings and experiencing singly and alone it own pain or fear or pleasure or complacency.