loneliness

You read something which you thought only happened to you, and you discovered it happened 100 years ago to Dostoyevsky.

There had never been any more between us thanchance had brought. But perhaps that makes a greater indebtednessand binds closer than much else

She would never forget how his soul was lonely as the moon they__ met under, and how, for several brief moments, she__ been able to chase the loneliness away.

I purely came over because I thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely sensitive face.

Dying, however, is lonely, the loneliest event of life. Dying not only separates you from others but also exposes you to a second, even more frightening form of loneliness: separation from the world itself.

Dad? Dad, no. No. I can't. I can't. Why are you saying these things?""Because I can't stand watching all that loneliness that lives inside you.

She might get lonely at times. But that was to be expected. The only way to stop those feelings was to live a life devoted to others. That was her true purpose in life. She was a mere background character in other people's lives.

...you hold a poemthat functions half as personalnote and half as telescopeto the heightsawaiting us all.

In truth, she disliked books. She felt a peculiar disquiet when opening the pages. She had felt it since childhood. She did not know why. Something in the act itself, the immersion, the seclusion, was disturbing. Reading was an affirmation of being alone, of being separate, trapped. Books were like oubliettes. Her preference was for company, the tactile world, atoms.

Don__ put all of your focus on dating. Typically, if you__e involved in outside activities and causes that you are passionate about, chances are that you__e meeting people with similar interests.

Perhaps her requirements were too great,Or her indulgence for human weakness too small,For her attempts to form a friendship had alwaysEnded in disappointment.

I know where I came from__ut where did all you zombies come from?I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is one thing I do not take. I did once__nd you all went away.So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light.You aren__ really there at all. There isn__ anybody but me__ane__ere alone in the dark.I miss you dreadfully!

Far rather would she that he were dead! She could not sit beside him when he stared so and did not see her and made everything terrible; sky and tree, children playing, dragging carts, blowing whistles, falling down; all were terrible. And he would not kill himself; and she could tell no one. "Septimus has been working too hard"___hat was all she could say to her own mother. To love makes one solitary, she thought. She could tell nobody, not even Septimus now, and looking back, she saw him sitting in his shabby overcoat alone, on the seat, hunched up, staring. And it was cowardly for a man to say he would kill himself, but Septimus had fought; he was brave; he was not Septimus now. She put on her lace collar. She put on her new hat and he never noticed; and he was happy without her. Nothing could make her happy without him! Nothing! He was selfish. So men are.

He could see her, but dared not remain for fear of annoying her by seeming to be spying upon the pleasures which she tasted in other company, pleasures which - while he drove home in utter loneliness, and went to bed, as anxiously as I myself was to go to bed, some years later, on the evenings when he came to dine with us at Combray - seemed illimitable to him since he had not been able to see their end.

I never feel alone realizing the fact that my life is my only life partner

Instantly a thick blackness seemed to enfold her and silence as of a dead world settled down upon her. Drowsy as she was she could not close her eyes nor refrain from listening. Darkness and silence were tangible things. She felt them. And they seemed suddenly potent with magic charm to still the tumult of her, to sooth and rest, to create thought she had never thought before. Rest was more than selfish indulgence. Loneliness was necessary to gain conciseness of the soul.

To an optimist loneliness is freedom, to all others it is prison.

To be insular is to be independent. But it is also to be alone.