Edward Young Quotes

The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.

There is no greater punishment than that of being abandoned to one's self.

With her high pale brow under her faded brown hair, she was like a rock washed clean by years of her husband's absences at conventions, dinners, committee meetings or simply at the office.

When everyone goes home, you're stuck with yourself.

I'd think the house was the source of great sadness or pressure. I knew it wasn't. I knew it was just where I lived. But I'd walk up the stairs and the second floor was just desolate. My old bedroom: empty. My old rehearsal room: empty. First floor studio: messy and empty. Middle room: broken gear everywhere.

I am, I said to no one there and no one heard at all, not even a chair.

But inside or out, I was alone, and I was beginning to wonder if I always had been, if I always would be.

The worst thing about loneliness is that it brings one face to face with oneself.

Now the windows, blinded by the glare of the empty square, had fallen asleep. The balconies declared their emptiness to heaven; the open doorways smelt of coolness and wine.

O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless; lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!

For hours, for days, for years, she had wandered endlessly within herself but never met anybody, nobody.

I want to be alone. Sympathies wasted on my hollow shell. I feel there's nothing left to fight for. No reason for a cause.

Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.

So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight - watching over nothing.

Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

His own life seemed so solitary, a fragile column supporting nothing amidst the wreckage of the years.

Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum -- a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself.

Lone women, like to empty houses, perish.

Nobody the dead man & Nobody the living Nobody is giving in & Nobody is giving Nobody hears me but just Nobody cares Nobody fears me but Nobody just stares Nobody belongs to me & Nobody remains No Nobody knows nothing All that remains are remains

Loneliness is a mirror, and recognizes itself.

I look for places like me: big, hollow, forgotten by most everyone.

The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a ruined king.

It's very unbalanced actually, to be real. Everything's like deserted.

I was as hollow and empty as the spaces between stars.