loneliness

This is what's so terrifying about being lonely: the instinctive sense that it is literally repulsive, inhibiting contact at just the moment contact is most required.

It was the first time she had ever felt the kind of loneliness that couldn't be cured with just any available company.

Loneliness is a state when you have not yet grown to love yourself enough.

Of course, the spectacle of two people's happiness is always something of a magnet for the unclaimed.

There__ nothing lonelier than a hand on glass. Maybe because it__ so rarely reciprocated.

To be truly able to greet life with lucidity and tinkling laughter, one must have had bravely experienced that ones heart feels as if it´s thousand years old with all the twinges of grief, nocturnal distress and loneliness and understood that not one expression of human sorrow is really alien. It can serve as a springboard for a more life-sensitive state of mind that paints even seemingly deadly boring details into gratifying wonders (it is not equal to a nauseating expression such as "seeing the good in everything"). I believe and do know that this sort of state can bring one a little closer to bearing the great mosaic that life is and maybe, rather than leaving us feeling opressed, helps us to grow a bit lighter.

How sad it was to realize that sometimes you never got there. That sometimes you lived a whole life skittering across the surface as the years passed, unblessed.

My loneliness is a choice, not a situation.

The memory of having sat at someone__ feet will later make you want to trample him underfoot. I__ trying to fend off your admiration for me, you see, in order to save myself from your future contempt. I prefer to put up with my present state of loneliness rather than suffer more loneliness later. We who are born into this age of freedom and independence and the self must undergo this loneliness. It__ the price we pay for these times of ours.

I think the hardest part of being a teenage, or any age really, is the misconception that you're alone. You're not alone. You're not the only one going through what you're going through, and life does get better if you want it to.

I am isolated. I sit in a glass ball, I see people through a glass wall. I scream, but they do not hear me.- Ellen West

People are so lonely, they spend their birthdays on the Internet, thanking people for wishing them a happy birthday, people who only know it__ their birthday because Facebook told them.

Why do you put yourself in unsafe places? Because something in you feels fundamentally devoid of worth.

You could climb to the top of the world and jump into the deepest of ravines, but if you don__ have someone to share it with you__l always be looking back.

We are not lonely, because we chose to be alone.We are not lost, because we chose to disappear.

I am so lost in the lost road , I chose this on my own ,I emptied all that I had ,All that I have left within ,is emptiness - a void that refuses to fill.How can I be alone in a room ,filled with a million souls ? How can I stay hungry after feeding hundreds of homes ? How ? Is this the pain of letting go and raising towards transcendence - Where I leave all my worldly pleasures and seek union with the One ?-Or is it a bout of lucidity , that I am all by myself , carrying on ,paying for the sins of others and living "BUT" for myself....-an everyday stagmata where the pain is so numb, that the the body ceases to exist ?

But I came to see that Las Vegas is not a freak but is, instead, deeply integrated with the rest of the country, and the world beyond. It is symptom, mirror, metaphor.

In any case, there was only one tunnel, dark and lonely, mine, the tunnel in which I had spent my childhood, my youth, my whole life. And in one of those transparent lengths of the stone wall I had seen this girl and had gullibly believed that she was traveling another tunnel parallel to mine, when in reality she belonged to the broad world, to the world without confines of those who do not live in tunnels; and perhaps she had peeped into one of my strange windows out of curiosity and had caught a glimpse of my doomed loneliness, or her fancy had been intrigued by the mute language, the clue of my painting.And then, while I advanced always along my corridor, she lived her normal life outside, the exciting life of those people who live outside, that strange, absurd life in which there are dances and parties and gaiety and frivolity. And it happened at times that when I walked by one of my windows she was waiting for me, silent and longing (why was she waiting for me? why silent and longing?); but other times she did not get there on time, or she forgot about this poor creature hemmed in, and then I, with my face pressed against the glass wall, could see her in the distance, smiling or dancing carefree, or, what was worse, I could not see her at all and I imagined her in inaccessible or vile places. And then I felt my destiny a far lonelier one than I had imagined.