What is the difference in being alone with another and being alone by one's self?
Memory is like patches of sunlight in an overcast valley, shifting with the movement of the clouds. Now and then the light will fall on a particular point in time, illuminating it for a moment before the wind seals up the gap, and the world is in shadows again.
The price of being a sheep is boredom. The price of being a wolf is loneliness. Choose one or the other with great care.
I did not know I was lonely, she thought, until I was no longer alone.
And yet all loneliness, angers, hatreds, envies, and itchings that (Hell) contains, if rolled into one single experience and put into the scale against the least moment of the joy that is felt by the least in Heaven, would have no weight that could be registered at all. Bad cannot succeed even in being bad as truly as good is good.
In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.
It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I’d envision his face.
I was lonely. I felt it deeply and permanently, that this state of being on my own might never disappear. But I welcomed the lonliness, which had everything to do with being anonymous. It's never lonliness that nibbles away at a person's insides, but not having room inside themselves to be comfortably alone.
That’s why; he’s worried about how his life is turning out, and he’s lonely, and lonely people are the bitterest of them all
I have been a stranger here in my own land: All my life
But most days, I wander around feeling invisible. Like I'm a speck of dust floating in the air that can only be seen when a shaft of light hits it.
Here we go mother on the shipless ocean. Pity us, pity the ocean, here we go.
Shrinking in a corner, pressed into the wall; do they know I'm present, am I here at all?
On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world.
In his or her own way, everyone I saw before me looked happy. Whether they were really happy or just looked it, I couldn't tell. But they did look happy on this pleasant early afternoon in late September, and because of that I felt a kind of loneliness new to me, as if I were the only one here who was not truly part of the scene.
If I could always read I should never feel the want of company.
Oh to have you with me, to have you here, not to be alone, but to be with you, my beauty, you of all souls! You.
Eternity is a long time to spend alone, without others of your kind.
I wasn't lonely. Loneliness, I think, has very little to do with location. It's a state of mind. In the centre of every city are some of the loneliest people in the world. If anything, because our whole planet was just outside the window, I felt even more aware of and connected to the seven billion other people who call it home.
Man cries, his tears dry up and run out. So he becomes a devil, reduced to a monster.