Best 1398 quotes in «solitude quotes» category

Drifting across the vast space, silent except for wind and footsteps, I felt uncluttered and unhurried for the first time in a while, already on desert time.

Em jogo estaria a seguinte tese: pode um homem, psicológica e espiritualmente, viver de um modo completamente autossuficiente, sem precisar de mais ninguém?

Drowning in silence; for in silence I shall never be disappointed …

D'une complexion farouche et bavarde, ayant le désir de ne voir personne et le besoin de parler à quelqu'un, il se tirait d'affaire en se parlant à lui-même. Quiconque a vécu solitaire sait à quel point le monologue est dans la nature. La parole intérieure démange. Haranguer l'espace est un exutoire. Parler tout haut et tout seul, cela fait l'effet d'un dialogue avec le dieu qu'on a en soit.

Eric Erikson writes that in their search for identity, adolescents need a place of stillness, a place to gather themselves.

En el fondo, seguía siendo, y siempre sería, una niña tímida que sólo se sentía a gusto en una soledad montaraz.

En cuanto al fin que nos proponen Plinio y Cicerón, la gloria, estoy muy lejos de tenerla en cuenta. La inclinación más contraria al retiro es la ambición. La gloria y el reposo no pueden alojarse en el mismo albergue. Por lo que veo, estos sólo tienen los brazos y las piernas fuera de la multitud; su alma y su intención continúan, más que nunca, atadas a ella: b | Tun’ uetule auriculis alienis colligis escas? [Entonces, viejo, ¿trabajas sólo para alimentar los oídos ajenos?] a | Se han echado atrás solo para saltar mejor, y para, con un movimiento más fuerte, penetrar más vivamente en la muchedumbre. ¿Queréis ver cómo se quedan cortos por un pelo? Comparemos las opiniones de dos filósofos [Epicuro y Séneca], y de dos escuelas muy diferentes, uno escribiendo a Idomeneo, otro a Lucillo, amigos suyos, para apartarlos de la administración de los negocios y de las grandezas, y dirigirlos hacia la soledad. Hasta ahora has vivido —dicen— nadando y flotando; ven a morir al puerto. Has entregado el resto de tu vida a la luz, entrega esta parte a la sombra. Es imposible abandonar las tareas si no renuncias a su fruto; así pues, deshazte de toda preocupación por el nombre y por la gloria. Existe el peligro de que el brillo de tus acciones pasadas te ilumine en exceso, y te siga hasta el interior de tu guarida. Abandona, junto a los demás placeres, el que brinda la aprobación ajena; y, en cuanto a tu ciencia y capacidad, no te importe: no perderán su eficacia porque tú valgas más que ellas. Acuérdate de aquel que, cuando le preguntaron para qué se esforzaba tanto en un arte que no podía ser conocido por mucha gente, respondió: «Me basta con pocos, me basta con uno, me basta con ninguno». Tenía razón. Tú y un compañero sois teatro de sobra suficiente el uno para el otro, o tú para ti mismo. Que el pueblo sea para ti uno solo, y que uno solo sea para ti todo el pueblo. Es una ambición cobarde pretender obtener gloria de la ociosidad y del ocultamiento. Tenemos que hacer como los animales, que borran su rastro a la entrada de su guarida. No has de buscar más que el mundo hable de ti, sino cómo has de hablarte a ti mismo. Retírate en tu interior, pero primero prepárate para acogerte; sería una locura confiarte a ti mismo si no te sabes gobernar. Uno puede equivocarse tanto en la soledad como en la compañía. Hasta que no te hayas vuelto tal que no oses tropezar ante ti, y hasta que no sientas vergüenza y respeto por ti mismo, c | obuersentur species honestae animo [que se ofrezcan imágenes honestas al espíritu], a | represéntate siempre en la imaginación a Catón, Foción y Aristides, ante los cuales aun los locos ocultarían sus faltas, y establécelos como censores de todas tus intenciones. Si estas se desvían, la reverencia por ellos te devolverá al camino. Te retendrán en la vía de contentarte contigo mismo, de no tomar nada en préstamo sino de ti, de detener y fijar el alma en unos pensamientos definidos y limitados donde pueda complacerse; y, tras haber entendido los verdaderos bienes, que se gozan a medida que se entienden, de contentarse con ellos, sin ansias de prolongar la vida ni el nombre. Este es el consejo de la verdadera y genuina filosofía, no de una filosofía ostentosa y verbal, como es la de los dos primeros.

Es que hasta la alegría que produce la presencia del hombre a quien se ama se siente mejor a solas. Si la presencia fuera de el continua, sólo estaría presente en su constante transcurrir. Detenerla sólo es posible en los ratos de soledad

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature. [...] Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.

Even if you are alive somewhere, the absence of the other person who used to be there beside you obliterates your presence. Everything in the room, even the stars in the sky, can disappear in a second, changing one scene for another, just like in a dream.

Et quelqu'un qui parle. À lui-même. Pour ne pas être tout seul.

.. Et c'était simple de lui dire de s'asseoir ; quand on pense à tout ce qu'on pourrait faire et qu'on ne fait pas ! toutes les occasions qu'on laisse échapper ! on a pas l'idée, pas l'élan ; au lieu d'être ouvert on est fermé ; c'est ça le grand péché : le péché par omission.

Events like this don't give me the sense of oneness others seem to enjoy; it's always been private occasions that make me feel connected to the joys and sorrows of the world, often in the form of communion with writers and musicians I'll never meet in person. Proust called these moments of unity between writer and reader 'that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude.

Everybody in the world wants to be understood and to have others appreciate them. Being different is scary. Solitude is pain and loneliness.

Even when it seems that there is no one else, always remember there's one person who never ceased to love you - yourself.

Everybody is a stranger, but that's the danger in going my own way.

Everyone is “extremely nice”—and yet I feel entirely alone. (“Abandonitis”).

Every moment of life wants to tell us something, but we do not want to hear what it has to say: when we are alone and quiet we are afraid that something will be whispered into our ear and hence we despise quiet and drug ourselves with sociability.

Everything pains me. The merest trifle rouses a sense of abandonment. I'm impatient with other people, their will to live, their universe. Attracted by a decision to withdraw from everyone [no longer bearing the world of Y].

Everything precious comes out of solitude.

Every time a man (myself) gives way to vanity, every time he thinks and lives in order to show off, this is a betrayal. Every time, it has always been the great misfortune of wanting to show off which has lessened me in the presence of the truth. We do not need to reveal ourselves to others, but only to those we love. For then we are no longer revealing ourselves in order to seem but in order to give. There is much more strength in a man who reveals himself only when it is necessary. I have suffered from being alone, but because I have been able to keep my secret I have overcome the suffering of loneliness. To go right to the end implies knowing how to keep one’s secret. And, today, there is no greater joy than to live alone and unknown.

Every writer must acknowledge and be able to handle the unalterable fact that he has, in effect, given himself a life sentence in solitary confinement.

Every day solitude for a particular time period is a good way to refresh physically and is a great opportunity to rise spiritually!

fall in love with your solitude

Far from being invulnerable and superhuman, Jesus is truly and deeply human. He is vulnerable to hunger and weariness. He is vulnerable to fear and anxiety, as the blood, sweat, and tears of Gethsemane demonstrate. He is perfect not because he never tires of the crowd and the work of ministry but because he rightly responds to weariness, withdrawing to desolate places to rest and pray. This is the hidden ground from which his ministry arises.

Experience has tutored me well that most will lie or cheat to get the better hand. It's why I prefer solitude to social interaction. - Bethany

Find some time to seclude yourself from the fuss of life and be face to face with yourself and God

Find meaning. Distinguish melancholy from sadness. Go out for a walk. It doesn’t have to be a romantic walk in the park, spring at its most spectacular moment, flowers and smells and outstanding poetical imagery smoothly transferring you into another world. It doesn’t have to be a walk during which you’ll have multiple life epiphanies and discover meanings no other brain ever managed to encounter. Do not be afraid of spending quality time by yourself. Find meaning or don’t find meaning but 'steal' some time and give it freely and exclusively to your own self. Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn’t make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be.

For a long time that had seemed to her to be the key to life: Life--real life--was just a solitude waiting to be transfigured. If Phillip was with her, the solitude she needed would be shattered, and along with it whatever wondrous thing might have come her way if she had been alone.

For a long while, he sat on the steps and sharpened the chain-saw blade with a round file, dipping it in bar-and-chain oil and raking it over each tooth with sleek, grating sounds. He lost himself in the rhythm of the labor. A victory over tears is a small thing, but it was his. The sky went from indigo to blackness, and he saw nothing ominous in it, nothing but cold stars wheeling in their course, a course determined by the same firm hand he hoped was guiding his own. But satellites, too, crossed the sky in sly, winking arcs. Sull knew that. He could not let himself be confounded. He went inside, to sleep beside his wife.

For her a day of pampering meant comic books, black liquorice, serious exercise, veggie curry and, above all, solitude.

For it is only in the darkness of solitude that the work of memory begins.

For it is in your power to retire into yourself whenever you choose.

For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, I live alone, I look to die alone: Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge, Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back, My heart goes sighing after swallows flown On sometime summer's unreturning track.

For a man who finds life tolerable only by staying on the surface of himself, it is natural to be satisfied with offering no more than his surface to others.

For the modern solitary, the quest for silence has vastly broader boundaries than what one's predecessors faced. Solitude is real only when it is relative to the world in which it is lived. It is unreal if attempted in fantasy--as though telephones and fax machines, the Internet and E-mail did not exist. (36)

For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.

From his corner office on the ground floor of the St. Cyril station house, Inspector Dick has a fine view of the parking lot. Six Dumpsters plated and hooped like iron maidens against bears. Beyond the Dumpsters a subalpine meadow, and then the snow¬ capped ghetto wall that keeps the Jews at bay. Dick is slouched against the back of his two-thirds-scale desk chair, arms crossed, chin sunk to his chest, star¬ing out the casement window. Not at the mountains or the meadow, grayish green in the late light, tufted with wisps of fog, or even at the armored Dumpsters. His gaze travels no farther than the parking lot—no farther than his 1961 Royal Enfield Crusader. Lands¬man recognizes the expression on Dick's face. It's the expression that goes with the feeling Landsman gets when he looks at his Chevelle Super Sport, or at the face of Bina Gelbfish. The face of a man who feels he was born into the wrong world. A mistake has been made; he is not where he belongs. Every so often he feels his heart catch, like a kite on a telephone wire, on something that seems to promise him a home in the world or a means of getting there. An American car manufactured in his far-off boyhood, say, or a motor¬cycle that once belonged to the future king of England, or the face of a woman worthier than himself of being loved.

From the outside looking in, i think my life would appear very isolated, occupying a huge empty space, with hollow-sounding, emotional echoes. But in reality, this solitary sanctuary i inhabit, allows my artistic nature to sing at the top of its lungs. My feelings have the space they need to breathe. And my art can gain the momentum, it requires, to bubble up to the surface of consciousness. For me, creativity is a chaotic and quiet hybrid, an entity that seeks a safe place to call home.

Fame is an island, and right before the castaway, the getaway of being known without being known.

...freedom is of more account than the height of a roof beam. I ought to know; mine cost me eighteen years' slavery. The man who lives on his own land is an independent man. He is his own master. If I can keep my sheep alive through winter and can pay what has been stipulated from year to year - then I pay what has been stipulated; and I have kept my sheep alive. No, it is freedom that we are all after, Titla. He who pays his way is a king. He who keeps his sheep alive through the winter lives in a palace.

Friends are like sugar. When you have them, you'll feel happiness. When you have too many of them, you will suffer.

From our solitude we shall create, forge songs , pour in the reflection of the stars and refresh the mind about the silk-ridden roads that wait for them who have forgotten to feel.

Given the choice, a yeast cell's ideal state is to be diploid. But if it's in an environment with a lack of nutrients, you know what happens? The diploids break into haploids again. Solitary little haploids. Because, in a crisis, it's easier to survive as a single cell.

Ged saw all these things from outside and apart, alone, and his heart was very heavy in him, though he would not admit to himself that he was sad. As night fell he still lingered in the streets, reluctant to go back to the inn. He heard a man and a girl talking together merrily as they came down the street past him towards the town square, and all at once he turned, for he knew the man's voice. He followed and caught up with the pair, coming up beside them in the late twilight lit only by distant lantern-gleams. The girl stepped back, but the man stared at him and then flung up the staff he carried, holding it between them as a barrier to ward off the threat or act of evil. And that was somewhat more than Ged could bear. His voice shook a little as he said, "I thought you would know me, Vetch." Even then Vetch hesitated for a moment. "I do know you," he said, and lowered the staff and took Ged's hand and hugged him round the shoulders-" I do know you! Welcome, my friend, welcome! What a sorry greeting I gave you, as if you were a ghost coming up from behind– and I have waited for you to come, and looked for you-

Go slow, my life, go slow. Let me enjoy the beauty of silence, serenity, and solitude.

Half of me is filled with bursting words and half of me is painfully shy. I crave solitude yet also crave people. I want to pour life and love into everything yet also nurture my self-care and go gently. I want to live within the rush of primal, intuitive decision, yet also wish to sit and contemplate. This is the messiness of life - that we all carry multitudes, so must sit with the shifts. We are complicated creatures, and ultimately, the balance comes from this understanding. Be water. Flowing, flexible and soft. Subtly powerful and open. Wild and serene. Able to accept all changes, yet still led by the pull of steady tides. It is enough.

Great growth comes from loneliness. You have time to develop, dwell in your own mind and go a bit mad. All great people are a bit mad. That’s good to remember. Don’t escape it.  Great growth comes from time spent in foreign lands, watching foreign people with foreign cultures. It makes you forget about your own land and race and town for a while. Great growth also comes from rooting yourself into one place from time to time. Unpack your bags, get a nice bed, a book shelf, some friends. Learn to show up, keep in touch, stick around.  Growth comes in all sort of forms and shapes, everywhere at all times, and it’s yours to take and consume. Do what ought to be done. Here and now, to get you somewhere — anywhere.

Happiness Makes Up in Height For What It Lacks in Length Oh, stormy stormy world, The days you were not swirled Around with mist and cloud, Or wrapped as in a shroud, And the sun’s brilliant ball Was not in part or all Obscured from mortal view— Were days so very few I can but wonder whence I get the lasting sense Of so much warmth and light. If my mistrust is right It may be altogether From one day’s perfect weather, When starting clear at dawn, The day swept clearly on To finish clear at eve. I verily believe My fair impression may Be all from that one day No shadow crossed but ours As through its blazing flowers We went from house to wood For change of solitude.

Healthy introspection, without undermining oneself; it is a rare gift to venture into the unexplored depths of the self, without delusions or fictions, but with an uncorrupted gaze.