Sometimes I dread loneliness more than bores. Other times, the reverse.
Loneliness is more likely to lead to fussy housekeeping than to grand views of the Universe.
Curiosity makes loneliness.
Lonely people console themselves with self-absorption or curiosity.
The impulse to perfection cannot exist where the definition of perfection is the arbitrary decision of authority. That which is born in loneliness and from the heart cannot be defended against the judgment of a committee of sycophants. The volatile essences which make literature cannot survive the clichés of a long series of story conferences.
Fitzgerald describes the social disillusionments and ballroom romanticism of the young people of the upper classes and the loneliness of Gatsby, who gives large parties and has an extensive social life; yet he is lonely, and his guests scarcely know him.... Hemingway's characters live in a tourist world, and one of their major problems is that of consuming time itself. It is interesting to observe that his works are written from the stand point of the spectator. His characters are usually people who are looking--looking at bullfights, scenery, and at one another across cafe tables.
Tragedy is always a mistake; and the loneliness of the deepest thinker, the widest lover, ceases to be pathetic to us so soon as the sun is high enough above the mountains.
Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy cur you meet, carry it for the time needed for it to love it and you it, then throw it away.
Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
I think it must be lonely to be God. Nobody loves a master. No.
Goodbye, you who are, for me, the postmarks again of shattered towns--Xenia, Burnt Cabins, Hornell-- their loneliness given away in poems, only their solitude kept.
The abhorrence of loneliness is as natural as wanting to live at all.
It is hard going to the door cut so small in the wall where the vision which echoes loneliness brings a scent of wild flowers in the wood.
Plato calls complacency the companion of loneliness.
Those whom the gods chose as their property must not consort with mortals.
Remember that although the distinction can be difficult to draw, loneliness and solitude are different.
Shall I let in the stranger, Shall I welcome the sailor, Or stay till the day I die? Hands of the stranger and holds of the ships, Hold you poison or grapes?
Saturday night is the loneliest night in the week.
I felt more than ever the necessity of my mission. But I went home out of spirits, I hardly know why. I must work by myself all life long.
The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?
The twentieth-century artist who uses symbols is alienated because the system of symbols is a private one. After you have dealt with the symbols you are still private, you are still lonely, because you are not sure anyone will understand it except yourself. The ransom of privacy is that you are alone.
The economic dependence of woman and her apparently indestructible illusion that marriage will release her from loneliness and work and worry are potent factors in immunizing her from common sense in dealing with men at work.
Terrified of being alone, yet afraid of intimacy, we experience widespread feelings of emptiness, of disconnection, of the unreality of self. And here the computer, a companion without emotional demands, offers a compromise. You can be a loner, but never alone. You can interact, but need never feel vulnerable to another person.
Fiction is one of the few experiences where loneliness can be both confronted and relieved.
Loneliness has been following me my whole life.
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