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Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements.
 

But who can count the beatings of the lonely heart?


I grow lean 
in loneliness, 
like a water lily 
gnawed by a beetle.
 

Remember that pain has this most excellent quality: if prolonged it cannot be severe, and if severe it cannot be prolonged.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing; 
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; 
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, 
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence.
 

Pain—has an Element of Blank—
It cannot recollect 
When it begun—or if there were 
A time when it was not.

Have you any idea 
How long a night can last, spent 
Lying alone and sobbing?

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more—Oh, never more!

There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints—I love thee with the breath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death.
 

Our souls sit close and silently within,
And their own web from their own entrails spin;
And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
 

There are some feelings time cannot benumb,
Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb.

 I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.
 

I wish my deadly foe, no worse
Than want of friends, and empty purse.
 

Hell is oneself; 
Hell is alone, the other figures in it 
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from 
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
 

You come into the world alone, you go out alone. In between it's nice to know a few people, but being alone is a fundamental quality of human life, depressing as that is.

 Your whole life is on the other side of the glass. And there is nobody watching.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide wide sea! 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony.

 I remember my grandfather telling me how each of us must live with a full measure of loneliness that is inescapable, and we must not destroy ourselves with our passion to escape this aloneness.

 Language has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone, and the word solitude to express the glory of being alone.

 Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.

 So lonely am I 
My body is a floating weed 
Severed at the roots 
Were there water to entice me, 
I would follow it, I think.

The wind blows out of the gates of the day, 
The wind blows over the lonely of heart, 
And the lonely of heart is withered away.
 

Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door 
Who is it for? All the lonely people, where do they all come from? 
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
 
Music was invented to confirm human loneliness.
 
Old age is...a lot of crossed off names in an address book.
 
There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.
 
As sickness is the greatest misery so the greatest misery of sickness is solitude. Solitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself.
 

Society, friendship, and love, 
Divinely bestowed upon man, 
Oh, had I the wings of a dove, 
How soon would I taste you again!
 
After the first death, there is no other.
 Death destroys a man, the idea of Death saves him.
 Death is a punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favor.
 
Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always use. Put no difference into your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.... What is death but negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near just around the corner. All is well.
 
Death must be distinguished from dying, with which it is often confused.
 
Dying 
is an art, like everything else. 
I do it exceptionally well.
 
Dying is the most hellishly boresome experience in the world! Particularly when it entails dying of "natural causes."

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