Ellen Hopkins Quotes

The worst feeling in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home.

Chekhov is this poet of melancholy and isolation and of wishing you were somewhere else than where you are.

For twenty years I have ached to go back home, when there was nobody there to whom I could return.

With a nearly desperate sense of isolation and a growing suspicion that I lived in an alien land, I took to the road in search of places where change did not mean ruin and where time and men and deeds connected.

Where ever I am I always find myself looking out the window wishing I was somewhere else.

Exile is not a time frame. Exile is an experience. It's a sentiment.

I have to live within my memories, within my private universe, and continually return to China, the land where my thoughts are locked. This is a very painful kind of existence, this feeling of nowhereness.

I've always been an outsider. Even in London. If I returned to Scotland, I'd feel a complete foreigner.

I know how men in exile feed on dreams.

South Bend is a nice town, but you know that phrase - 'I was homesick even when I was home.'

I've never felt at home anywhere.

There are times when you wish you were somewhere else, and someone else.

The years rolled slowly past and I found myself alone. Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends, I found myself further and further from my home.

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction--every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.

There was a patient look on the old man's face, as if the world were a great mistake and he had nobody with whom to speak his own language or find companionship.

A disquieting loneliness came into my life, but it induced no hunger for friends of longer acquaintance: they seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet.

There she is, lying in front of me, smoking a cigarette, thinking of something or someone else. And that’s how she is stuck in my mind forever. We are two explorers in the dark. Mapless and hopeless. Alone together.

I'm full of restlessness. Not lonely, exactly - my head is racing with ideas. But it is that old treacherous feeling that real life is happening somewhere else, and I'm left out.

The loneliness is when you pick up and move, even if you are not originally from that place, and you have some memories that you want to embrace. Having a life in transit, I feel like you are always looking out the back window.

I get homesick.

I think, at the end of the day, I have an outsider's heart.

I remember being this little girl missing her daddy and living so far away in France and from anything that was familiar to me. I felt so different and so isolated. When you're removed from everything that's familiar, you realize who you are.

It is about this very abstract sense of displacement that he feels the moment he turns off the television.

Contemplating Christmas when you are isolated and far from home brings its own unique pain.

I've always craved to belong to somewhere, but I never have and never will.