Best 2736 quotes in «loneliness quotes» category

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.

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.

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

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

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?

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 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.

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 he wanted to leap up, to say to her, I have been sick and I found out then, only then, how lonely I am. Is it too late? My heart puts up a struggle inside me, and you may have heard it, protesting against emptiness...It should be full, he would rush on to tell her, thinking of his heart now as a deep lake, it should be holding love like other hearts. It should be flooded with love. There would be a warm spring day...Come and stand in my heart, whoever you are, and a whole river would cover your feet and rise higher and take your knees in whirlpools, and draw you down to itself, your whole body, your heart too. ("Death of a Traveling Salesman")

But he was absolutely alone. No one ever wrote to him. Visited him. Totally alone. And I believe the happiest man I have ever met.

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.

But he saw Naomi as the wind traveling over the field, always searching, never stopping, and never knowing that true piece is when you curl around one little piece of something. One little fern. One little frond. One person to love.

But if as you read this book you're saying to yourself: "I'd rather be miserably married than be alone." Well young lady, take out your clown shoes and buckle your seat belt - it's going to be a very bumpy one-woman circus.

But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy; and the absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil. I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me; whose eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of your poor brother!

But I know that for every good thing that comes along, there is always a cost.

But I look into her eyes and she looks into my eyes and we recognize it—the excitement of being here, the excitement of being now. And maybe I’m realizing what a part of it she is and maybe she’s realizing what a part of it I am, because suddenly we’re not crashing as much as we’re combining. The chords swirling around us are becoming a tornado, and we are at the center of each other. My wrist touches hers right at the point of our pulses, and I swear I can feel it. That thrum. We are moving to the music and at the same time we are a stillness. I am not losing myself in the barrage. I am finding her. And she is—yes, she is finding me. The crowd is pressing in on us and the bassline is revealing everything and we are two people who are part of a lot more people, and at the same time we’re our own part. There isn’t loneliness, only this intense twoliness.

But in her loneliness in the palace she learned to know him, they learned to know each other, and she discovered with great delight that one does not love one’s children just because they are one’s children but because of the friendship formed while raising them.

But most of those to whom Ender's Game feels most important are those who, like me, feel themselves to be perpetually outside their most beloved communities, never able to come inside and feel confident of belonging.

... but she was also bewilderingly lonely... Abra had lost her gift for being alone.

But remember this. When God wants to punish us, he gives us just ourselves to care for.

...But the heart is not a computer that can be upgraded so quickly and easily with the latest version of love. Love cannot be sealed hermetically inside a tight box like any other on the store shelf; even though the word itself is in public domain, its quality is not. Love cannot promise a full customer satisfaction garanteed or a whole lifetime of dreams shared refunded, with no questions asked. Love cannot be agreed to in terms and conditions as quickly as the "Next" button being clicked. These unspoken terms and conditions grow and develop over time until it gets very messy, and no one remembers how such a mess of accusation and anger was able to overshadow their pure ecstasy of love, the spark between two people turning on a new operation system of togetherness for the first time. Love is always beta; never a golden master. If love were a computer, constant bug reports and subsequent fixes are the name of the game, and there are many unexplained breakdowns. The heart is too stubborn for explanations and too impatient for forgiveness, and there is usually no one at the tech support line. Forgive me stan, if I've crashed so often. It's just to hard to boot up to a whole new future without you. I am an empty monitor in search of a "hello.

But then there's loneliness. However you might philosophise about it, loneliness is a terrible thing, my dear fellow… Although in reality, of course, it's absolutely of no importance!

But then I stopped allowing myself to dream, because it was more painful to long for things and never get them than to deal with whatever was in front of me. [...] I'm too old to hear confront nonsense anymore. Too old to believe that everything will be alright.

But there was something terrifying taking over her thoughts, and it wouldn't leave. Out of seven billion sharing the planet with her, not one of them knew what was going through her head. Not one of them knew that she was lost. Not one of them asked.

But today, people are oddly cocooned in their misery. Many fail to realize either the collective reasons for our problems, or the collective changes necessary in order to solve them. Yet within the awareness of our oneness lie both our power to rise up and the ladder on which to climb. A belief in separation is always at the root of a problem, and a realization of our oneness is always at the root of its solution.

But this gives no proper idea of my feelings at all; and no one that has not lived such a retired stationary life as mine, can possibly imagine what they were: hardly even if he has known what it is to awake some morning, and find himself in Port Nelson, in New Zealand, with a world of waters between himself and all that knew him.

But to think there was meaning, a scheme to things, well, that was quite beyond her philosophical reach. She feared as she always had, that all that was ever meant was loneliness, hard work, striving to make a difference when no difference could possibly be made. It was like dipping a stick into the ocean and trying to write something – all the little people of the world spinning out little patterns that lasted no more than a few years, and meant nothing at all.

But when she finally got the wings to fly she realized she had nowhere else to go to...

But when I look back at myself at age twenty what I remember most is being alone and lonely. I had no girlfriend to warm my body or my soul, no friends I could open up to. No clue what I should do every day, no vision for the future. For the most part, I remained hidden away, deep within myself. Sometimes I’d go a week without talking to anybody. That kind of life continued for a year. A long, long year. Whether this period was a cold winter that left valuable growth rings inside me, I can’t really say. At the time I felt as if every night I, too, were gazing out a porthole at a moon made of ice. A transparent, eight-inch-thick, frozen moon. But I watched that moon alone, unable to share its cold beauty with anyone.

By Fortune's adverse buffets overborne To solitude I fled, to wilds forlorn, And not in utter loneliness to live, Myself at last did to the Devil give!

By now he had learned. Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains.

Camus had said in his 'Carnets' that the lives of others appear always, from the outside, to have a completion our own dismally lacks. Only when we understand this as a projection - that our lives, too, are unclosed and contingent - do we approach maturity. Alice felt immature. She felt that she was a spy in the cold.

Can I be honest with you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird? I mean, really, really, really honest? Sometimes I get sooo scared! I’ll wake up in the middle of the night all alone, hundreds of miles away from anybody, and it’s pitch dark, and I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen to me in the future, and I get so scared I want to scream. Does that happen to you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird? When it happens, I try to remind myself that I am connected to others—other things and other people. I work as hard as I can to list their names in my head. On that list, of course, is you, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. And the alley, and the well, and the persimmon tree, and that kind of thing. And the wigs that I’ve made here with my own hands. And the little bits and pieces I remember about the boy. All these little things (though you’re not just another one of those little things, Mr. Wind-Up Bird, but anyhow…) help me to come back “here” little by little.

Can I Tinder swipe for cat cuddles?

Can we give up all for the love of God? When the surrender of ourselves seems too much to ask, it is first of all because our thoughts about God Himself are paltry. We have not really seen Him, we have hardly tested Him at all and learned how good He is. In our blindness we approach Him with suspicious reserve. We ask how much of our fun He intends to spoil, how much He will demand from us, how high is the price we must pay before He is placated. If we had the least notion of His loving-kindness and tender mercy, His fatherly care for His poor children, His generosity, His beautiful plans for us; if we knew how patiently He waits for our turning to Him, how gently He means to lead us to green pastures and still waters, how carefully He is preparing a place for us, how ceaselessly He is ordering and ordaining and engineering His Master Plan for our good-if we had any inkling of all this, could we be reluctant to let go of our smashed dandelions or whatever we clutch so fiercely in our sweaty little hands? If with courage and joy we pour ourselves out for Him and for others for His sake, it is not possible to lose, in any final sense, anything worth keeping. We will lose ourselves and our selfishness. We will gain everything worth having.

Caught in your youniverse again? Try reaching out to the one besides you!

Cause sometimes what makes you two is shadow and you.

Children are no antidote to loneliness.

C'e' un desiderio che non sono mai riuscito a soddisfare, e l'assenza che deriva mi appare come il peggiore dei mali. Non ho un amico, Margaret: quando esultero' nell'entusiasmo del mio successo, nessuno partecipera' alla mia gioia; se saro' assalito dalla delusione, nessuno cerchera' di risollevarmi dall'abbattimento. Consegnero' i miei pensieri alla carta, questo si'; ma per comunicare i sentimenti e' un mezzo insufficiente.

Characters who love loneliness walk on lonely roads!