Best 1398 quotes in «solitude quotes» category

Though solitude, endured too long, Bids youthful joys too soon decay, Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, And overclouds my noon of day; When kindly thoughts that would have way, Flow back discouraged to my breast; I know there is, though far away, A home where heart and soul may rest. Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, The warmer heart will not belie; While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine In smiling lip and earnest eye. The ice that gathers round my heart May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, The joys of youth, that now depart, Will come to cheer my soul again.

To be alone in solitude, to sit with oneself, to hear one's silence, is to hear the purpose of one's journey.

To draw me out, the therapist asks what I did for the holidays. When I tell him he says gently (he says everything gently), Sounds like that's one of the ways your loss has affected you: not wanting to be with other people. Hating to be with other people, I don't say. Terrified of being with other people.

To find is the thing.

To get matured, you must have an education in the School of Solitude!

To imbibe so much quiet is to become the music inside it.

To interrupt the writer from the line of thought is to wake the dreamer from the dream. The dreamer cannot enter that dream, precisely as it was unfolding, ever again.

To love can mean 'to love oneself,' and often love is no more than a juxtaposition of two solitudes.

To resist the social pressure now put even on one's leisure time, requires a tougher upbringing and a more obstinate willfulness about going one's own way, than ever before.

To speak your Heart out nothing can be better than Night and Acoustic guitar !!

Tout est inutile et il faut au moins avoir le courage de ne pas se faire de prétextes. J'aurais aimé clouer la nuit sur du papier, comme un grand papillon nocturne. Mais, plutôt, c'est elle qui m'a soulevé de ses eaux, comme le corps livide d'un mort et qui me pousse, inexorablement, au milieu du froid et de l'écume vaporeuse, au-devant d'elle.

To you, whoever you are, when I am gone — remember to be kind tonight to some lonely person. For me.

To wonder is to recreate a sacred self.

Tried a lot,but can't find a companion like you my dear solitude. Let us shake our hands again.

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

To be alone was my best interest because needing myself was looking for you

Tristeţi Îmi port ca pe-un copil bolnav tristeţea,  prin parcu-n care frunzele, asemeni clopotelor plâng; şi-aud cum creşte neliniştea începutului de toamnă departe, şi cum aleargă păsările ploii, pe acoperişuri negre şi se frâng. E-aceeaşi amintire şi-aceeaşi deznădejde veche. Aş vrea cu braţele tale de astă-vară sa mă cuprinzi; păşesc pe urmele trecutului nostru, cum aş merge după un om cunoscut,  şi totuşi, nu-ţi mai găsesc gestul, în lacul cu mohorâte oglinzi. E pretutindeni, un aer apăsător, ca de spital,  şi pomii în despletiri, îşi spun mâhniri ştiute. Amintirea ta îmi închide drumul ca un mal,  şi-mi simt gândurile, în pietrişul umed, căzute. Aşa : vino să-mi ridici sufletul, ca pe-o coajă de copac,  şi să-mi citeşti durerile închise – cuiburi de păsări triste, acolo. Mâinile tale sa-mi fie deznădejdii, mătăsoase batiste,  şi ochii tăi, pentru copilul tristeţelor mele, odihnitor hamac,  Vântul răscoleşte cerul ca pe-o carte deschisă. Aud fâsâitul foilor pe care-s scrise atâtea poveşti dureroase. ... De departe vine prevestirea unui sfârşit apăsător,  şi eu îmi port tristeţea ca pe-un copil, prin săli de spital reci si întunecoase.

True purpose dies when true people who are suppose to keep it alive fail to give it life

Truly, sacred rest is soul care. We honor quiet time alone with God. We intentionally step away from the chaos of life. We unplug from noise and distractions. We relish moments of tranquility.

True happiness is impossible without solitude. The fallen angel probably betrayed God because he longed for solitude, which angels do not know.

Tu as tout à apprendre, tout ce qui ne s'apprend pas: la solitude, l'indifférence, la patience, le silence. Tu dois te déshabituer de tout: d'aller à la rencontre de ceux que si longtemps tu as côtoyés, de prendre tes repas, tes cafés à la place que chaque jour d'autres ont retenue pour toi, ont parfois défendue pour toi, de traîner dans la complicité fade des amitiés qui n'en finissent pas de se survivre, dans la rancoeur opportuniste et lâche des liaisons qui s'effilochent.

Tu n'as rien appris, sinon que la solitude n'apprend rien, que l'indifférence n'apprend rien: c'était un leurre, une illusion fascinante et piégée. Tu étais seul et voilà tout et tu voulais te protéger: qu'entre le monde et toi les ponts soient à jamais coupés. Mais tu es si peu de chose et le monde est un si grand mot: tu n'as jamais fait qu'errer dans une grande ville, que longer sur quelques kilomètres des façades, des devantures, des parcs et des quais. L'indifférence est inutile. Tu peux vouloir ou ne pas vouloir, qu'importe! Faire ou ne pas faire une partie de billard électrique, quelqu'un, de toute façon, glissera une pièce de vingt centimes dans la fente de l'appareil. Tu peux croire qu'à manger chaque jour le même repas tu accomplis un geste décisif. Mais ton refus est inutile. Ta neutralité ne veut rien dire. Ton inertie est aussi vaine que ta colère.

Until you experience real loneliness, you shall never know what real loneliness is. So many people feel miserable and lonely just because they ignore their inner man, create a gap between themselves and their inner man, and neglect their true self!

Ultimately, loneliness is not the experience of lacking but the experience of living. It is part and parcel of the human condition, and, unless a person is resolved, it can only be a matter of time before it resurfaces, often with a vengeance. On this account, loneliness is the manifestation of the conflict between our desire for meaning and the absence of meaning from the universe, an absence that is all the more glaring in modern societies which have sacrificed traditional and religious structures of meaning on the thin altar of truth.

Ursula craved solitude but she hated loneliness

Uzunca bir süre kendine sığınaklar kurup yıktın: düzen ya da eylemsizlik, başıboş sürüklenme ya da uyku, geceleyin devriye gezmeler, yansız anlar,gölgelerin ve ışıkların kaçışı.Daha uzun bir süre kendine yalan söylemeyi,kendini sersemleştirmeyi,kendi oyununa gelmeyi sürdürebilirsin belki.Ama oyun bitti,büyük şenlik,ertelenmiş yaşamın yalancı sarhoşluğu bitti.Dünya yerinden kıpırdamadı ve sen değişmedin. Kayıtsızlık seni farklı kılmadı.

...very lonely and, often, very unhappy, with the poignant misery that comes to lonely people who long to be social and cannot, somehow, step naturally and unselfconsciously into some friendly group

Vous m'avez tout donné, le bonheur et la souffrance. Vous avez été mêlée à toutes mes choses de cet été, comme de la pluie mêlée aux branches d'un arbre. Vous avez désenchanté pour moi la solitude. A peine si j'y peux croire encore.

Was I (am I not still?) a victim of words and books merely, and are books just an excuse for living, living things out in parenthesis, even in the most desolate stony place as I was, quotations and misquotations raining down on me thick and fast – words, words, words – the multitude of words, a parody of rain? For after all, as old Mrs Feany said, the rain is healthy. And the rain it raineth everyday. But the stuff of books and solitude and spying on the poor, could they be healthy? Or were my doubts the real heresy and treason? What book ever changed the world? It seems a solipsism to say that what changes the way we see the world, changes the world, but it is not. Where do you want me to begin? The Bible, Das Kapital? The Divine Comedy, The Satanic Verses?

We all are individual and lonely, like stars which appear so close but millions of miles apart.

We all need the pendulum swing of snatching spaces of solitude and serving tables of sociability. In fact, the more plugged in and connected we are, the more we need to unplug and disconnect. A world of presence needs a time of absence.

We are given these niches, small worlds of our own populated by only a handful, where we feel understood. Our bubble worlds bump into innumerable others daily, but there is so little cause to allow their integrity to be breached.

We are living in an era where mental health has become equated with, and measured by, the success of our interpersonal relationships, particularly the extent to which they bring us happiness. Yet as important as it is to be able to live peaceably with others, mental and interpersonal health ultimately require the ability to be at peace in the solitude of oneself and to enjoy, and be enriched by, the company of one’s own thoughts.

We become more devoted to pleasing other people than establishing a relationship with ourselves. We believe we are what we have and what we do and we believe we are what other people think we are. Ego is in many ways the primary cause of most of our misconception and woe.

We ask no sympathy from others in the anxiety and agony of a 
broken friendship or shattered love. When death sunders our nearest
 ties, alone we sit in the shadow of our affliction. Alike mid the greatest 
triumphs and darkest tragedies of life we walk alone. On the divine 
heights of human attainments, eulogized and worshiped as a hero or 
saint, we stand alone. In ignorance, poverty, and vice, as a pauper or 
criminal, alone we starve or steal; alone we suffer the sneers and rebuffs
of our fellows; alone we are hunted and hounded through dark courts
and alleys, in by-ways and highways; alone we stand in the judgment
 seat; alone in the prison cell we lament our crimes and misfortunes; alone we expiate them on the gallows. In hours like these we realize the 
awful solitude of individual life, its pains, its penalties, its responsibilities; hours in which the youngest and most helpless are thrown on their own resources for guidance and consolation. Seeing then that life must ever be a march and a battle, that each soldier must be equipped for his own protection, it is the height of cruelty to rob the individual of a single natural right.

we both mistake solitude for safety find comfort in wishing ourselves untouchable you a cloud & i fog daily i remind myself every life must be s e e d e d with fingerprints i say a prayer to an unnameable god the constant motion rotating constellations across a sky that will always be my favorite blue the cactus that has & will continue to bloom every spring of my life & hope it's enough to find you whistling a song only birds sing in morning's memory waiting for me to be present in our living

We don not think, in the holy places; we think in bed, afterwards, when the glare, and the the noise, and the confusion are gone, and in fancy we revisit alone, the solemn monuments of the past, and summon the phantom pageants of an age that has passed away.

We enter this universe alone in search of microscopic beauty—and while we love, or are loved by others—we leave this world completely alone, having only found infinite sorrow. Despite there being so many of us, each of us tragically realizes that everyone is on a solitary journey. No one else can see what we see, hear what we hear, feel, what we feel. All we have of each other are glimpses of moments, whispers of experiences, memories of the past we wish we could make eternal, but in the end, we become a faint memory in the minds of a few good people.

we eat our grief with devotion. fold our breaths. tie them in knots and learn to breathe with our mouths hungry for love. ________ solitude.

Urbanity provides us with so many ways to avoid people. Isn't that what distinguishes it from traditional rural life, where the onus, perhaps because it was difficult & rare, was more on greeting people?

We exist in the world of books.

We may be closest to hearing the call when we feel most alone or in trouble, for genius hides behind the wound and one of the greatest wounds in life is to not know who we are intended to be or what we are supposed to serve in life.

We habitually compare ourselves to others to a debilitating degree, believing our successes can only be captured by how much we've outpaced someone else. We deal in acceptable ideas. We disregard our own capabilities. We waste a lot of time and emotion on what everyone else is doing well or badly, when we should be investing in and celebrating ourselves. And sometimes we simply forget that we like our own company, or that we love things for our own, deeply personal, individualistic reasons. In short, we forget ourselves, and how to be alone.

We must not only observe but listen to the sound of nature.

We need solitude, because when we're alone, we're free from obligations, we don't need to put on a show, and we can hear our own thoughts.

We need the slower and more lasting stimulus of solitary reading as a relief from the pressure on eye, ear and nerves of the torrent of information and entertainment pouring from ever-open electronic jaws. It could end by stupefying us.

Wenigstens eine kleine Weile lang mußte ich, jedem Anspruch entrückt, in Frieden mit mir selbst sprechen können, ohne daß irgendjemand mich dabei unterbrach.

We born alone,we all die alone.

We rarely find answers in the distractions. But oh what possibilities live within the quiet of solitude. In my fear to be alone, I distracted myself away from the deep beauty of my own solitude.

We take our fetters with us; our freedom is not total: we still turn our gaze towards the things we have left behind; our imagination is full of them.