loneliness

What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?

Be good and you will be lonesome.

Loneliness in a crowd of people was the worst kind of loneliness, but she couldn't help it.

Sometimes I feel so- I don__ know - lonely. The kind of helpless feeling when everything you__e used to has been ripped away. Like there__ no more gravity, and I__ left to drift in outer space with no idea where I__ going__ike a little lost Sputnik?__ guess so.

In spite of language, in spite of intelligence and intuition and sympathy, one can never really communicate anything to anybody. The essential substance of every thought and feeling remains incommunicable, locked up in the impenetrable strong-room of the individual soul and body. Our life is a sentence of perpetual solitary confinement.

What is the difference in being alone with another and being alone by one's self?

Just like you mistook lust for love, you have mistaken with being alone for loneliness. So I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

In the midst of friends, home, and kind parents, she was alone.

The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.

People use drugs, legal and illegal, because their lives are intolerably painful or dull. They hate their work and find no rest in their leisure. They are estranged from their families and their neighbors. It should tell us something that in healthy societies drug use is celebrative, convivial, and occasional, whereas among us it is lonely, shameful, and addictive. We need drugs, apparently, because we have lost each other.

...I also believe that introversion is my greatest strength. I have such a strong inner life that I__ never bored and only occasionally lonely. No matter what mayhem is happening around me, I know I can always turn inward.

There__ a loneliness that only exists in one__ mind. The loneliest moment in someone__ life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is blink.

There is the solitude of suffering, when you go through darkness that is lonely, intense, and terrible. Words become powerless to express your pain; what others hear from your words is so distant and different from what you are actually suffering.

It's weird to feel like you miss someone you're not even sure you know.

That__ why; he__ worried about how his life is turning out, and he__ lonely, and lonely people are the bitterest of them all

Then stirs the feeling infinite, s

What was wrong with me? I had a decent life. I was healthy. I wasn't starving or maimed by a land mine or orphaned. Yet somehow, it wasn't enough. I had a hole in me, and everything I took for granted slipped through it like sand.I felt like I had swallowed yeast, like whatever evil was festering inside me had doubled in size.

Today the individual has become the highest form, and the greatest bane, of artistic creation. The smallest wound or pain of the ego is examined under a microscope as if it were of eternal importance. The artist considers his isolation, his subjectivity, his individualism almost holy. Thus we finally gather in one large pen, where we stand and bleat about our loneliness without listening to each other and without realizing that we are smothering each other to death. The individualists stare into each other's eyes and yet deny each other's existence. We walk in circles, so limited by our own anxieties that we can no longer distinguish between true and false, between the gangster's whim and the purest ideal.