Best 104 quotes in «lonliness quotes» category

One real meeting is much better than a thousand internet or social media words.

Our stories go in every direction, but sometimes, if we're lucky, our stories join into one, and for a while, we're less alone.

[Peggotty] gave me one piece of intelligence which affected me very much, namely, that there had been a sale of the furniture at our old home, and that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were gone away, and the house was shut up, to be let or sold. I had no part in it while they remained there, but it pained me to think of the dear old place as altogether abandoned; of the weeds growing tall in the garden, and the fallen leaves lying thick and wet upon the paths. I imagined how the winds of winter would howl round it, how the cold rain would beat upon the window-glass, how the moon would make ghosts on the walls of the empty rooms, watching their solitude all night. I thought afresh of the grave in the churchyard, underneath the tree: and it seemed as if the house were dead, too [...].

She's even been practicing making out with the back of her hand. Which was about as effective as tickling yourself. It's why you needed other fingers, other tongues. Only other people can make you feel real.

she had no stay, no root in herself yet. Well do I know not one human being ought, even were it possible, to be enough for himself; each of us needs God and every human soul he has made, before he has enough; but we ought each to be able, in the hope of what is one day to come, to endure for a time, not having enough. Letty was unblamable that she desired the comfort of humanity around her soul, but I am not sure that she was quite unblamable in not being fit to walk a few steps alone, or even to sit still and expect. […] and now her heart was like a child left alone in a great room. She had not yet learned that we must each bear his own burden, and so become able to bear each the burden of the other. Poor friends we are, if we are capable only of leaning, and able never to support.

She wore his flower In her hair Scent of amber Sweetened the air Her dress was white Her feet bare He found heaven Waiting there She is alive In his painful sigh...

Sin demands to have a man by himself. It withdraws him from the community. The more isolated a person is the more attractive will be the power of sin over him, and the more deeply he becomes involved in it, the more disastrous is his isolation.

Some people are like swings... They give us an exciting thing to do for a while.. Thereafter leave us alone, dizzy and not very far ahead in life...

Some people will leave you soon no matter how, but it's not the ending of your story, it's just the ending of their role in your story. cause life goes on, and you should just expect damage from others.

Sometimes I sit and stare out at the people walking by, wondering if they’ve felt as I’ve felt, trapped, alone, but guiltily content in the knowledge that I will never know another’s thoughts, and therefore can feel special due to my unique loneliness.

Sometimes I feel as lonely as the Queen of England.

Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think of the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will ever want to make sense of all that I am

Sometimes we have toxic relationships with certain people. We know who they are, We know how they operate, and we still haven't cut them off. It's difficult for us to let people go, even if they hurt us because we have a greater fear of loneliness.

Spending too much time in one's individual silo can produce pride, isolation, and a stagnated ministry.

That's life for you," said McDunn. "Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving some thing more than that thing loves them. And after a while you want to destroy whatever that thing is, so it can't hurt you no more.

Prime numbers are divisible only by 1 and by themselves. They hold their place in the infinite series of natural numbers, squashed, like all numbers, between two others, but one step further than the rest. They are suspicious, solitary numbers, which is why Mattia thought they were wonderful. Sometimes he thought that they had ended up in that sequence by mistake, that they'd been trapped, like pearls strung on a necklace. Other times he suspected that they too would have preferred to be like all others, just ordinary numbers, but for some reason they couldn't do it. This second thought struck him mostly at night, in the chaotic interweaving of images that comes before sleep, when the mind is too weak to tell itself lies.

The lonelier you are, the more you pull away, until humans seem an alien race, with customs and a language you can't begin to understand.

The consequences of seeking popularity is not only the chronic feeling of lonliness, but a desire to hide your face from the eyes of the universe.

The girls - Tallskinnyblonde, Ponytailfreckleface, Shortblackhair, Alwayswearspearls, and Roundchubbycheeks - hung back in a little covey, walking slower, chattering and giggling. Their voices lifted up to Kya like chimes. She was too young to care much about the boys; her eyes fixed on the troop of girls. Together they squatted to watch a crab skittering sideways across the sand. Laughing, they leaned against one another's shoulders until they flopped in the sand in a bundle. Kya bit her bottom lip as she watched. Wondering how it would feel to be among them. Their joy created an aura almost visible against the deepening sky. Ma had said women need one another more than they need men, but she never told her how to get inside the pride.

The quiet wasn't so lonely if you listened to how much sound was hidden in silence.

The silence is becoming more poisonous and I have no one to talk with, not even my own self

Um, thanks,” Jackson told her. “And your name is…?” “I’m Margaret, Margaret Van Der Graaf,” she answered with another eerie smile. Her teeth were so white that they looked bleached. “Van Der Graaf?” Jackson repeated, trying to stifle his laughter. He didn’t want to be rude to the only person in sight, to this kind-hearted stranger who was offering to help him, but… Van Der Graaf? “What are you laughing at?” Margaret asked with curiosity, flashing him a calculating gaze. “I like my name. If you’re going to be a jerk, then I won’t help you. You can stay out here on the street through the night for all I care.” “…Harsh,” said Jackson, giving her a quizzical glance back. There was something ‘off’ about her, something that Jackson couldn’t quite place, something that bordered on horrible loneliness and longing. “Who else lives here, Margaret Van Der Graaf?” He couldn’t resist saying her name aloud. Despite its hilarity, it had a nice ring to it. “Who else lives here?” he urged. “Me, myself and I,” said Margaret simply, snickering when she saw his horrified and annoyed expression

Webs of deceit were not only tangled, they were also very lonely.

When I consider the men (like my father) I have treated in psychotherapy, I recognize the challenge I face as a counselor. These men are in counseling due to an insistent wife, troubled child or their own addiction. They suffer a lack of connection with the people they say they love most. Chronically accused of being over controlling or emotionally absent, they feel at sea when their wives and children claim to be lonely in their presence. How can these people feel “un-loved” when (from his perspective) he has dedicated his life to their welfare? Some of these men will express their lack of vitality and emotional engagement though endless service. They are hyperaware of the moods, needs and prefer-ences of loved ones, yet their self-neglect can be profound. This text examines how a lack of secure early attachment with caregivers can result in the tendency to self-abandon while managing connections with significant others. Their anxiety and distrust of the connection of others will manifest in anxious monitoring, over-giving, passive aggressive approaches to anger and chronic worry. For them, failure to anticipate and meet the needs of others equals abandonment.

The rain spun in the yellow arc lights over the café parking lot. It was empty inside, except for a fat Negro woman whom I could see through the service window in the kitchen, and a pretty, redheaded waitress in her early twenties, dressed in a pink uniform with her hair tied up on her freckled neck. She was obviously tired, but she was polite and smiled at me when she took my order, and I felt a sense of guilt, almost shame, at my susceptibility and easy fondness for a young woman's smile. Because if you're forty-nine and unmarried or a widower or if you've simply chosen to live alone, you're easily flattered by a young woman's seeming attention to you, and you forget that it is often simply a deference to your age.

There's a humpback whale in the ocean that sings at fifty-two hertz: too low for any other whale to hear. Scientists aren't sure if it's a genetic anomaly, or a sole survivor of an extinct species, or just a whale who accidentally learnt the wrong song. They just know that it's probably the loneliest mammal on earth.

There was no place more solitary than a dark room, with its murky light and fetid closeness.

The strange thing about loneliness is that we feel it most intently when we are with people. Loneliness is the knowing in our heart that we were created to really, truly know each other in the deepest sense but we feel stuck with superficiality.

The winter drove them mad. It drove every man mad who had ever lived through it; there was only ever the question of degree. The sun disappeared, and you could not leave the tunnels, and everything and everyone you loved was ten thousand miles away. At best, a man suffered from strange lapses in judgment and perception, finding himself at the mirror about to comb his hair with a mechanical pencil, stepping into his undershirt, boiling up a pot of concentrated orange juice for tea. Most men felt a sudden blaze of recovery in their hearts at the first glimpse of a pale hem of sunlight on the horizon in mid-September. But there were stories, apocryphal, perhaps, but far from dubious, of men in past expeditions who sank so deeply into the drift of their own melancholy that they were lost forever. And few among the wives and families of the men who returned from a winter on the Ice would have said what they got back was identical to what they had sent down there.

They were shiny, shiny people that were bright like light bulbs, but there I stood out like a sore thumb, my dimness flickering self, and they saw it and removed themselves from me, forming their circle of light. Until the night died, they never noticed when the sun broke open its skull of rays, where I laid by the stop sign.

To live is to prepare for goodbye For loneliness is a friend who will not betray. Shiver not in the pouring love, instead buy an umbrella Believe not in happiness, even in the passions of love… Confess not your love, even if you would die for it. For love is like a season It comes and goes to decorate life’s boredom The moment you call it Love, it melts away, an ice sculpture… Goodbye, Someday. Happiness lasts not forever As Despair lasts not forever. Some days, there is Goodbye some days, there is Hello. At death, some look back on being loved While some look back on having loved… I’ll definitely look back on having loved…

Whoever you are. Where ever you are. With whom so ever you are & were. Whatever may be your past. What so ever may be the truth. I will wait for you & I will fade away just like a daffodil when storm comes.

Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet – for me, anyway – all that’s worth living for lies in that charm A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are.

With all this darkness round me I feel less alone. In a way. I love to get up and move about in it, then back here to . . . me.

When our heart is closed, it can create a lonely and isolated feeling together with the attitude: "Nobody loves me" or "Nobody cares about me", which can make it hard for other people to love us.

When one is alone, imperfection must be endured every minute of the day.

You get so alone sometimes that it just makes sense; You are being pushed out of your comfort zone.

You know-- one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..." "Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?" But the little prince made no reply.

You know that you are lonely , when you start loving to seek attention

Your busyness made me realize what loneliness is...

You're great but you're not there when I go to bed at night or get up in the morning. You don't make me a cup of tea after a hard day at work, or rub my back in the bath. I'm sick of being lonely. Is that so wrong?

You were born alone, you will die alone. People you meet in life get filtered by time. Some stay, some hurt, some standby, some teach. It depends upon you how much power do you give them to hurt you. Just think once.. the person you’re crying for really worth it if he/she made you cry?

A great measure of the real value of the things we have is how we feel when such things become scarce and absent in our lives

You know why God’s so hard to find, Trevor? No, Mr. Shaw, I say, why is God so hard to find? God’s so hard to find because he ain’t lost!

After all, in the very casualness of Gatsby's party there were romantic possibilities totally absent from her world.

You can't get out of life alive, so you may as well have a good time.

I am not sure what lonliness is," she said. "If it is not literally being solitary, is it the fear of solitude, of being alone with oneself? I feel no such fear. I like being alone." "What do you fear then?" he asked her. She glanced briefly at him and smiled, a fragile expression that spoke for itself even before she found words. "Never finding myself again.

A grown woman is like a coyote -she can get by on very little.Men are more like house cats. Leave them alone for too long and they 'll die of sadness.

And yet we couldn't leave--it was if the rocks were holding us there. I mean, they were only rocks. But for some reason, those rocks made lonely feel good.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.