Best 2736 quotes in «loneliness quotes» category

Isolated people, those who live alone, are always conscious of their condition in the homes of families.

Isolation ist nicht die Höchstform von Exsistenz und Stille nicht die Abhandlung von Zeit.

I, sometimes, fear that probably I'll just keep changing cities, and may be someday I'll also travel the world, but never find another soul who thinks exactly the way I do.

. . . Isn't it funny and lonely being together, Dick. No place to go except close.

I spent the rest of the day in someone else's story. The rare moments that I put the book down, my own pain returned in burning stabs.

I stayed in bed for over an hour looked at things on my phone I felt slightly anxious about nothing particular I walked downstairs and poured coffee into a jar I asked a person on the internet if I should take drugs I took drugs before the person had time to respond I feel alienated by people who express concern about me without defining their concern in terms of a specific solution or goal I dont feel comforted by the idea of an afterlife I dont want to continue experiencing things after I die I want someone to pull my hair because I like the idea of someone controlling my head without touching my head what is the difference between being an independent person and being a person who is accepting of loneliness?

Is this how it is for a species that senses it is going extinct? Is there a feeling of loneliness, or unease, each morning, upon awakening?

Is there anything so empty as something that's once been full?

I stood where they'd left me. I watched them get smaller and smaller as they went down the hallway, leaving me there without a word, not even looking back. Only I was getting smaller and smaller, being swallowed up in the suffocating emptiness of the silent house; so that by the time they came back again, I would have disappeared.

I suffered from depression. I would go blank some moments. I would collapse in my room in utter sadness. Then I fought back at life. I wanted to give life a good fight. I embraced each struggle and each hardship in my life.

I sung to her at night. Every night. The same song. And she would do this thing, when she would close her eyes. And it felt like she was connecting with the music. That she was depicting every note, every sound, every word. I would watch her, watch her like she was my saving grace, like my angel. And at the chorus, the corners of her thin lips would pull up, and a small grin would form on her face. Her eyes would crinkle, and my heart would drop.

It all comes down to the first thing you think of when you wake up. That first image or idea before the filtering of conscious thought takes over, while you’re still in between. Whatever you think of, that’s the reason you get up in the first place. That’s the reason you get out of bed, into your clothes, into your shoes, and out the door.

It all comes down to this: when you recognise your loneliness in another person, when you see desperation so familiar to yours written across someone else, you can’t just let them leave.

It could be kindness. Faith felt hollow at the thought. She had needed kindness before, and has received none. Now it was too late, and she did not know what to do with it.

It felt as if I’d been teleported to the dark side of the moon, forced to gaze out at the stars and wonder which one I’d come from.

It had started to drizzle. The lamp poles cast a kaleidoscope of light dancing across the puddles in the road. The rain made Sam feel even more lost now, as if these shadowy events were invisible to the world. As if the night was cloaked in anonymity. This wasn’t a peaceful rain - it was a sad one. A drizzle, which wept for the inevitable. Sam knew even if she got Alison out of this alive, the cuts on their lives had already been made, pooling the blood of consequence beneath their feet as the night dragged on. Whichever way this went, they’d have scars from this night. Scars and scabs and things which could not be spoken. And that made her feel utterly hopeless.

I think about what makes us lonely on a recent subway ride from Brooklyn to Manhattan. As the train hurtles over the Manhattan Bridge, the subway car is silent, save for the muffled beats of a pop song. A woman up front is reading a book, and a few commuters are dozing. The rest of us are glued to our devices: heads bent, earbuds in, fingers scrolling. The trains sputters and then stops completely mid-bridge; plugged into our own curated digital landscapes, no one looks up. What was once a period of contemplation, boredom, small talk, confrontations, maybe even some light flirting, has been replaced by screens. In addition to filling the blank spaces in our day, our phones double as a crutch to “lean on when we are socially anxious or uncomfortable,” says Julia Bainbridge, a freelance writer and editor, who, in 2016, launched The Lonely Hour, a podcast dedicated to exploring the condition. The world is unpredictable, but our screens provide a convenient buffer against the possibility of spontaneous human interaction.

I think how we are all broken over one thing or another, how we all limp about, dragging our sorrows & troubles, our failures & disappointments, our perfect loneliness, & how it is when we suddenly open our eyes & see someone next to us dragging their own smashed bones. It seems only natural that we would want to crawl in their direction holding out our hands.

I think loneliness is one of the greatest and realest things any of us can experience, because there is no one else there to corrupt it or interfere with our perception... which makes it extremely intimate and yet universal simultaneously.

I think of drug dealers like I think of my father— never really there when you want them to be.

I think one of the reasons why people tend to fake an entire relationship is maybe they are just afraid of being alone or are lonely right now!

I think that if we look for love courageously, it reveals itself, and we wind up attracting even more love. If one person really wants us, everyone does. But if we’re alone, we become even more alone. Life is strange.

I think the hardest part of being a teenage, or any age really, is the misconception that you're alone. You're not alone. You're not the only one going through what you're going through, and life does get better if you want it to.

I think she's afraid to even hug me now. It's my fault, but I miss it, Andrew. I miss it so much it aches sometimes, you know?' I do know. I do know, I want to tell him, but I let him talk. And he does, with a gut-wrenching honesty that tears at my heart. 'I want to be held. Is that so wrong? I want to be held, and stroked. I want to know that someone loves me. I want to feel it on my skin.' He looks at the ceiling and exhales, then meets my eyes again. 'But nobody touches me anymore. Not even when I have a fever. Mom just hands me a thermometer now.' He drops his eyes and his ears redden. 'Even when you kiss me, you don't touch me. It's like I'm a leper or something. I can hardly keep my hands off of you, but it's not the same for you, is it?

I think only when you are truly alone can you see you never were.

I think there is a difference between aloneness and loneliness. Aloneness is necessary for the soul to thrive - even to come alive. Not loneliness.

I thought about how often this was needed in everyday life. How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don’t let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry. Or how we feel a surge of love for a partner but we don’t say anything because we’re frozen with the fear of what those words might do to the relationship. Morrie’s approach was exactly the opposite. Turn on the faucet. Wash yourself with the emotion. It won’t hurt you. It will only help. If you let the fear inside, if you pull it on like a familiar shirt, then you can say to yourself, “All right, it’s just fear, I don’t have to let it control me. I see it for what it is.” Same for loneliness: you let go, let the tears flow, feel it completely—but eventually be able to say, “All right, that was my moment with loneliness. I’m not afraid of feeling lonely, but now I’m going to put that loneliness aside and know that there are other emotions in the world, and I’m going to experience them as well.

I thought about how often this was needed in everyday life. How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don't let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry.

I thought of the cool, fresh air of the city I'd always dreamed of living in. The art museums and trolleys and the mysterious fog that blanketed it. I could almost smell the cappuccinos I'd planned to drink in bohemian cafes or hear the indie music in the bookstores I would spend my free time in. I pictured the friends I'd make, my kindred art people, and the dorm room I was supposed to move into.

It is a sound like loneliness—enough to let you know you’re there, but not enough to fill you with life.

It is good to be alone, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult should be one more reason to do it.

It is in the company of others that one can be really lonely, for then one's personality is forced openly to try to express what it's separate individuality is.

It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger.

It is so easy at times for a lonely individual to begin fantasizing about what the people outside are saying about him and, in result, irrationally and fearfully, and sometimes angrily, fancy himself a villain.

It might be lonely at the top; but the view is Amazing.

It is raining, perhaps clouds voiding their deepest longings! Upon the streams I have drove those paper boats to the farthest. Listening to the lonely drops of rain I am trying in vain to sing melodious, Alas the voice ends deep within! Were you the song within? O my dear, but I know you are silence that sings wordless, a melody hummed nameless!

It [Loneliness] is a suitable environment where diseases and perfection can be produced. -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC

It made me very sad, that question. Sad and defeated. Because I knew she knew why I was thinking about that woman—I was thinking about my own tendencies toward aloneness and I thought I could end up like that woman, with a bird perhaps, or a dog—probably a dog, I know birds are supposed to make good pets but I think there’s something creepy about them—but alone with a life that didn’t touch or overlap with anyone else’s, a sort of hermetically sealed life.

It's a funny thing in my job: you remain perpetually lonely in a world where loneliness is the rarest commodity.

It no longer makes me cry and die and tear myself to see her go because everything goes away from me like that now — girls, visions, anything, just in the same way and forever and I accept lostness forever.

Its all about perception in life, For some One minus One = One & for some its Zero.That's the only difference.

It's all right. I'm not upset. After all, they were just things. When you've lost your mother and your father, you can't care so much about things, can you?

It's as if she understood completely the condition of loneliness and how it undermines us all, forcing us to make choices that we know are wrong for us.

It's alright to love someone who doesn't love you back, as long as they're worth you loving them. As long as they deserve it.

It’s all about “Priorities” There's No Such Thing as "Busy

It's bad to be unable to stand solitude.

It seems perverse that we can be more social than anyone would have thought possible when we are at our most anti-social, locked away from the world and silently staring at a computer screen, but that, as psychologists will tell you is the way we operate. When we are at the maximum of our disconnect we also are ready to connect and feel the need for interaction.

It seems funny to think that healing or coming to terms with loneliness and loss, or with the damage accrued in scenes of closeness, the inevitable wounds, that occur whenever people become entangled with one another, might take place by means of objects. It seems funny, and yet the more I thought about it the more prevalent it was. People make things - make art of things that are akin to art - as a way of expressing their need for contact, or their fear of it; people make objects as a way of coming to terms with shame, with grief. People make objects to strip themselves down, to survey their scars, and people make objects to resist oppression, to create a space in which they can move freely. Art doesn't have to have a reparative function, any more than it has a duty to be beautiful or moral. All the same, there is art that gestures toward repair; that, like Wojnarowicz's stitched loaf of bread, traverses the fragile space between separation and connection.

It's funny to think that Christmas — a time known for its joyful togetherness — can be the loneliest time of the year for some.

It’s hard to make people care again once you’ve taught them not to. It’s hard to tell people that you need them, once you’ve told them you don’t.