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Quote by Schopenhauer

“Genuine tranquility of the heart and perfect peace of mind, the highest blessings on earth after health, are to be found only in solitude and, as a permanent disposition, only in the deepest seclusion.”

Quote by Schopenhauer

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Schopenhauer

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“This was the part she hated, the part of a relationship that always nudged her to bail, the part where someone else’s misery or expectations or neediness crept into her carefully prescribed world. It was such a burden, other people’s lives. She did love Leo. She’d loved him in a host of different ways at different times in their lives, and she did want whatever their current thing was to continue. Probably. But she always came back to this: She was so much better at being alone; being alone came more naturally to her. She led a life of deliberate solitude, and if occasional loneliness crept in, she knew how to work her way out of that particular divot.”

RelationshipsLonelinessSolitude
Book:The Nest
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“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.”

LoveSolitudeMelancholy
Book:Poeme
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“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women actors on it" says Shakespeare. But actually only the men and women in the public gaze are actors on it. I, for instance, whom — and this I hold one of my greatest blessings while it is so — the public does not gaze on, am not an actor, but only a scene-shifter: the stage is curtained when I and those like me move on it. (Addition:) Or that is how I should like it to be always”

Solitude
Author:Nanamoli Thera
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