It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.
If love is universal, no one can be left out.
Any decent society must generate a feeling of community. Community offsets loneliness. It gives people a vitally necessary sense of belonging. Yet today the institutions on which community depends are crumbling in all the techno-societies. The result is a spreading plague of loneliness.
Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone.
Writing a book is a very lonely business. You are totally cut off from the rest of the world, submerged in your obsessions and memories.
The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present.
All we ask is to be let alone.
It's getting to the point where I am no fun anymore, I am sorry. / Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud, ' I am lonely.' / I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are, you make it hard.
I have friends who I get along with who I know get very uncomfortable being alone, unless they're with people, talking all the time. Whether it's on the phone, or in person, they're never by themselves. Whereas I could be alone for months.
Solitude: a sweet absence of looks.
Solitude is the soul's holiday, an opportunity to stop doing for others and to surprise and delight ourselves instead.
Loners, if you catch them, are well worth the trouble. Not dulled by excess human contact, nor blasé or focused on your crotch while jabbering about themselves, loners are curious, vigilant, full of surprises. They do not cling. Separate wherever they go, awake or asleep, they shimmer with the iridescence of hidden things seldom seen.
When the sparrow sings its final refrain, the hush is felt nowhere more deeply than in the heart of man.
A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey's gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind.
All great and precious things are lonely.
I guess it all depends on your nature. Some people can't stand being alone. I love solitude and silence. But when I come out of it, I'm a regular talking machine. It's all or nothing for me.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
It is only alone, truly alone that one bursts apart, springs forth.
People used what they called a telephone because they hated being close together and they were scared of being alone.
There's nothing terribly wrong with feeling lost, so long as that feeling precedes some plan on your part to actually do something about it. Too often a person grows complacent with their disillusionment, perpetually wearing their "discomfort" like a favorite shirt.
Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.
Yet it is in this loneliness that the deepest activities begin. It is here that you discover act without motion, labor that is profound repose, vision in obscurity, and, beyond all desire, a fulfillment whose limits extend to infinity.
Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.
As I get older I'm more and more comfortable being alone.
I believe a lot of disease comes from anxiety, loneliness.
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