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63 quotes
Silence can be louder than any storm; it holds the secrets the heart cannot speak.
The quietest woods often echo with the loudest memories.
We are all strangers, seeking solace in a fleeting world.
We are all exiles in time, searching for a home we can never quite recall.
Loneliness is a spaceship without stars. Find your own light.
The heart, a restless bird, seeks a cage of affection, yet yearns for boundless flight.
The soul, a restless wanderer, forever seeks a home it cannot name.
We are all islands, yearning for connection across the isolating sea.
We are all exiles, searching for a home we can never quite find.
The soul selects her own Society - then - shuts the Door - on infinitude.
The Soul selects her own Society - Then - shuts the Door.
The hardest truths are often the ones we whisper to ourselves in the dark.
The hardest truths are the ones we whisper to ourselves in the dead of night.
We are solitary travelers on paths we did not choose, yet we make them ours with each step.
One must learn to be alone, to truly know oneself before venturing into the tangled wood of human connection.
One can construct a life of quiet desperation behind even the most glittering facade.
Loneliness is not the absence of company, but the presence of unspoken words.
Loneliness is not the absence of others, but the absence of yourself within them.
The soul demands a solitude, a space where echoes fade.
Loneliness is not solitude. It's the echo of what we expected.
Loneliness is not solitude, but the absence of understanding.
The human heart is a wilderness, often uncharted, always untamed.
The Soul selects her own Society – Then – shuts the Door.
We are all exiles, searching for a home that may not exist.
Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing so little to be reached as with criticism.
Nostalgia is a beautiful cage; we long to return, forgetting why we left.
We are all exiles, searching for a home that exists only in our memories.
We are all actors in our own lives, playing roles dictated by circumstance, longing for a stage of our choosing.
Loneliness is a phantom limb, forever aching for what is lost.
The world is a stage, but some of us are perpetually backstage, observing the play unfold without ever truly participating.
Even in the grandest masquerade, the eyes betray the soul's true despair.
The keenest griefs are often those we hide, even from ourselves.
The crowd obscures the individual. Find yourself, alone, before you seek to join the many.
Loneliness is the echo of the self, calling out for connection.
Secrets are power, but they become a prison when you're the only one inside.
The heart, when wounded, seeks solace in the quiet of its own making.
The mask we wear to hide from the world often becomes the face we fear to remove.
The most profound loneliness stems not from being alone, but from being misunderstood.
It is the unspoken sorrows that weigh the heaviest on the heart.
A crowd is no company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures.
A crowd is no company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
There's a loneliness in being human that no amount of company can truly erase.
The world whispers secrets, but I can only hear the echoes of my own despair.