Best 235 quotes in «being alone quotes» category

You only grow when you are alone.

You write a story about loneliness, and you grab them all because everybody's an expert on that one.

At the beginning of the twenty-first century, to feel alone or want to be alone is deeply unfashionable: to admit to feeling alone is to reject and betray others, as if they are not good company, and do not have entertaining, interesting lives of their own to distract us, and to actually seek to be alone is a radical act; to want to be alone is to refuse a certain kind of conversational hospitality and to turn to another door, and another kind of welcome, not necessarily defined by human vocabulary.

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

Being alone is not synonymous with incompleteness. Having a partner is not a precondition for completeness.

Did he understand, as those interminable minutes ticked by, that being alone is not the same as being lonely? That being alone is a neutral state; it is like a blind fish at the bottom of the ocean without eyes, and therefore without judgement. Is it possible? That which is around me does not affect my mood; my mood affects that which is around me. Is it true? Could Denny have possibly appreciated the subjective nature of loneliness, which is something that exists only in the mind, not in the world, and, like a virus, is unable to survive without a willing host?

Being alone comes from separating our Self from others. It’s not about taking alone time in order to recharge. It’s the difference between “I’m alone” vs “I need some time alone”. Introverts can take alone time in a crowded bookstore full of strangers. Being alone comes from a state of emotional separation. It’s that wall we place between us and the external. We can do this while having the physical presence of another person or having people in our lives. People who have many friends can still feel alone. People who feel the most alone consistently hold attitudes and take actions that separate themselves, exclude themselves and hold themselves incomparable to others.

A season of loneliness and isolation is when the caterpillar gets its wings. Remember that next time you feel alone.

I’m perfectly alone right now, my mind is on overdrive, the gears are grinding in whirring dissonance – and it’s just how I like it.

I’d thought he was stars and then I’d thought he was a fox. I had thought I’d been alone, but I hadn’t.

In Russia a devout man or a woman might have lived as a 'poustinik,' living alone but not in isolation, always ready to welcome and serve a stranger. The Russian word for 'solitude' means 'being with everybody.

It's better to be alone and keep your dignity than to be in a relationship where you always sacrifice your self respect.

Maybe this is who I really am. Not a loner, exactly. But someone who can be alone.

I love the stillness of a room, after a party. The chairs are moved, the cushions disarranged, everything is there to show that people enjoyed themselves; and one comes back to the empty room happy that it's over, happy to relax and say, 'Now we are alone again.

Never wanted it to be an imposition, I am alone & will find my way alone.

I felt I could turn the earth upside down with my littlest finger. I wanted to dance, to fly in the air and kiss the sun and stars with my singing heart. I, alone with myself, was enjoying myself for the first time as with grandest company.

I was good with being alone, always liked it, but there's something about doing a job alone that you've always done with someone else that just doesn't feel right. Maybe it's like making Christmas cookies by yourself. There's nothing wrong with it in theory, but you're really supposed to be doing it with other people, and not just any other people.

Sometimes you feel alone because, like you, others aren't so ready to confess their shortcomings and struggles.

Sometimes being alone makes you discover what you really wanted in life.

Sometimes you need to take a break from everyone and spend time alone, to experience, appreciate and love yourself.

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 music I play after dinner is not a relief from the silence but something like its substantiation: listening to music for an hour or two every evening doesn’t deprive me of the silence — the music is the silence coming true.

Think of this – that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other. True, the writer may have been alone also with Spenser's golden apples in the Faerie Queene, Proserpina's garden, glistening bright among the place's ashes and cinders, may have seen in his mind's eye, apple of his eye, the golden fruit of the Primavera, may have seen Paradise Lost, in the garden where Eve recalled Pomona and Proserpina. He was alone when he wrote and he was not alone then, all these voices sang, the same words, golden apples, different words in different places, an Irish castle, un unseen cottage, elastic-walled and grey round blind eyes.

There are those nights when the dark is so black and thick, you can't see yourself, and all you wish for is someone to hold on to. So you reach across those empty sheets of silence, groping and grasping, hoping you'll touch something, anything warm and alive. But once again you come up cold.

When your lover leaves .... Cupid is summoned to reclaim his arrow. And he must pull the barbed arrowhead out backwards through the raw flesh of your heart.

A creation of importance can only be produced when its author isolates himself, it is a child of solitude.

Some people on bus seats shake at the shoulders, Stoned Elvises trying to dance after the gig. Some walk into the rain and look like they’re smiling, Running mascara writes sad bitter letters on their faces. Some drive their cars into lay-bys or park edges And cradle the steering-wheel looking like headless drivers. Some sink their open mouths into feather pillows And tremble on the bed like beached dolphins. Some people are bent as question marks when they weep And some are straight as exclamation marks. Some are soaking in emotional dew when they wake, Salt street maps etched into their faces. Some find rooms and fall to the floor as if praying to Allah. Noiseless Faces contorted in that silent scream that seems like laughter. Why is there not a tissue-giver? A man who looks for tears, Who makes the finest silk tissues and offers them for free? It seems to me that around each corner, beneath each stone, Are humans quietly looking for a place to cry on their own.

The secret to living in the rush of the world with a minimum of pain is to get as many people as possible to string along with your delusions; the trick to living alone up here, away from all agitating entanglements, allurements, and expectations, apart especially from one’s own intensity, is to organize the silence, to think of its mountaintop plenitude as capital, silence as wealth exponentially increasing. The encircling silence as your chosen source of advantage and your only intimate. The trick is to find sustenance in (Hawthorne again) “the communications of a solitary mind with itself.” The secret is to find sustenance in people like Hawthorne, in the wisdom of the brilliant deceased.

When you learn how to be alone you’ll discover the difference between alone and lonely.

All men's misfortunes spring from their hatred of being alone.

Alone, and without any reference to his neighbours, without any interference, the artist can fashion a beautiful thing; and if he does not do it solely for his own pleasure, he is not an artist at all.

A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey's gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind.

Alone time is when I distance myself from the voices of the world so I can hear my own.

Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone.

Alone-in moments of prayer or meditation, or simply in stillness-we breathe more deeply, see more fully, hear more keenly. We notice more, and in the process, we return to what is sacred.

A man in a bookstore buys a book on loneliness and every woman in the store hits on him. A woman buys a book on loneliness and the store clears out.

A man can be himself only so long as he is alone.

And here in my isolation I can grow stronger. Poetry seems to come of itself, without effort, and I need only let myself dream a little while painting to suggest it.

And to get the work done that I must do, one has to work in isolation and not be readily disturbed... I don't have daily newspapers, and I like to feel when I get up in the morning my attention is fixed on the work I am going to do.

A man is born alone and dies alone; and he experiences the good and bad consequences of his karma alone; and he goes alone to hell or the Supreme abode.

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.

Art starts alone - and convinces society later.

Any decent society must generate a feeling of community. Community offsets loneliness. It gives people a vitally necessary sense of belonging. Yet today the institutions on which community depends are crumbling in all the techno-societies. The result is a spreading plague of loneliness.

Be able to be alone. Lose not the advantage of solitude.

All of our unhappiness comes from our inability to be alone.

As I get older I'm more and more comfortable being alone.

Be good and you will be lonely.

A woman who is willing to be herself and pursue her own potential runs not so much the risk of loneliness, as the challenge of exposure to more interesting men - and people in general.

Being alone does not mean you are lonely, and being lonely does not mean you are alone.

Be alone, that is the secret of invention; be alone, that is when ideas are born.