Quotessence
Home / Topics / Loneliness Quotes

Loneliness Quotes

Browse 4676 quotes about Loneliness.

Related topics

LonelyPeopleSolitudeBeing AloneIfsWorldMenFeelsThinkingFeeling LonelyKnowsFeelingsHumansWayBeing LonelyNeedsHeartKindPainLoneliness And SolitudePersonsWantFeltSoulIsolationLoveMomentsWritingLongMindSometimesLittlesMayNightSelfRealSufferingWellsDoeEnoughI Am LonelyTwoEndsFacesLifeTryingLeftStillsCompanyHuman BeingsInspirationalSadnessMeanBelieveAgeBookDarkDesireDreamGivingHardHelpingHungerLooksMadeArtLife IsSaidWorstPovertySpaceStoriesDespairEmptinessEyeHas BeensKnownRealizingSeemsYearsAlone LonelyBornChildrenConditionsCrowdsDiesEarthEmptyFactsHandsHomeMatterSpiritualStarsUniverseWalksCompanionDarknessFirstsLongingmore

Loneliness Quotes

“And she would like to cry, but she is unable to; and she would like to disappear but she won't; and she would like to stop feeling this despair and so she thinks that she will go to the movies see friends shop eat barter fuck the neighbor's husband: she is like a sow in her mud (of loneliness) and covers herself in it and what of it--it is the disease of her country, and the late night television shows the magazines and movies in cheap collusion with it.”

LonelinessDespairDepression
Book:The Mirror in the Well
Create image

“So that you will hear me my words sometimes grow thin as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches. Necklace, drunken bell for your hands smooth as grapes. And I watch my words from a long way off. They are more yours than mine. They climb on my old suffering like ivy. It climbs the same way on damp walls. You are to blame for this cruel sport. They are fleeing from my dark lair. You fill everything, you fill everything. Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy, and they are more used to my sadness than you are. Now I want them to say what I want to say to you to make you hear as I want you to hear me. The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual. Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over. You listen to other voices in my painful voice. Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications. Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me. Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish. But my words become stained with your love. You occupy everything, you occupy everything. I am making them into an endless necklace for your white hands, smooth as grapes.”

LoveLonelinessDespairCompanionshipAnguishSo That You Will Hear Me
Book:Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Create image

“As always when he worked with this much concentration he began to feel a sense of introverting pressure. There was no way out once he was in, no genuine rest, no one to talk to who was capable of understanding the complexity (simplicity) of the problem or the approaches to a tentative solution. There came a time in every prolonged effort when he had a moment of near panic, or "terror in a lonely place," the original semantic content of the word. The lonely place was his own mind. As a mathematician he was free from subjection to reality, free to impose his ideas and designs on his own test environment. The only valid standard for his work, its critical point (zero or infinity), was the beauty it possessed, the deft strength of his mathematical reasoning. THe work's ultimate value was simply what it revealed about the nature of his intellect. What was at stake, in effect, was his own principle of intelligence or individual consciousness; his identity, in short. This was the infalling trap, the source of art's private involvement with obsession and despair, neither more nor less than the artist's self-containment, a mental state that led to storms of overwork and extended stretches of depression, that brought on indifference to life and at times the need to regurgitate it, to seek the level of expelled matter. Of course, the sense at the end of a serious effort, if the end is reached successfully, is one of lyrical exhilaration. There is air to breathe and a place to stand. The work gradually reveals its attachment to the charged particles of other minds, men now historical, the rediscovered dead; to the main structure of mathematical thought; perhaps even to reality itself, the so-called sum of things. It is possible to stand in time's pinewood dust and admire one's own veronicas and pavanes.”

MindArtLonelinessDespairDepressionMental HealthThoughtObsessionConcentrationArt Creation
Book:Ratner's Star
Create image

“She turned and walked down the musty, dimly-lighted corridor, along a strip of carpeting that still clung together only out of sheer stubbornness of skeletal weave. Doors, dark, oblivious, inscrutable, sidling by; enough to give you the creeps just to look at them. All hope gone from them, and from those who passed in and out through them. Just one more row of stopped-up orifices in this giant honeycomb that was the city. Human beings shouldn't have to enter such doors, shouldn't have to stay behind them. No moon ever entered there, no stars, no anything at all. They were worse than the grave, for in the grave is absence of consciousness. And God, she reflected, ordered the grave, for all of us; but God didn't order such burrows in a third-class New York City hotel.”

DeathLonelinessDespairHopelessCity
Book:Deadline at Dawn
Create image