Becca Fitzpatrick Quotes

Now we're like planets, holding to each other from a great distance. [...] Now we're hundreds of miles apart, our short arms keep us lonely, no one hears what's in my head. [...] It's March, even the birds don't know what to do with themselves.

Have you ever felt like a phone call that's been disconnected?

Everything else outside me seems far, far away.

I felt like I might as well have been living in another part of the solar system.

Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows.

And it was just the three of us - three bodies and two people - the three who knew what had happened and too many layers between all of us too much keeping us from one another.

What could be lonelier than trying to communicate?

We're all like the little sailor. From the harbors we hear the strains of accordions and the murky soapy noises of the docks, from the mountains we receive the dish of silence that the shepherds eat, but we don't hear more than our own distances. And what distances without end and without doors and without mountains!

There is a chasm between me and the world outside of me. A gap so wide my feelings can't cross it. By the time my screams reach the other side, they have dwindled into groans.

More and more I find myself at a loss for words and didn't want to hear other people talking either. Their conversations seemed false and empty. I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.

People are islands,' she said. 'They don't really touch. However close they are, they're really quite separate. Even if they've been married for fifty years.

Perhaps that is our doom, our human curse, to never really know one another.

It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger.

He lay far across the room from her, on a winter island separated by an empty sea. She talked to him for what seemed a long while and she talked about this and she talked about that and it was only words, like the words he had heard once in a nursery at a friend's house, a two-year-old child building word patters, like jargon, making pretty sounds in the air.

People talking without speaking,/ People listening without hearing...Sounds of Silence.

Society's dark hull drifts further and further away. It is this place - the place of our separation, our distinction - that much of his poetry occupies.

The entire time I was in Portland, which was the five years, I had absolutely no contact with any of my family.

I'm so secluded. Very alone.

I'm used to living in a disassociated universe.

I've been out on the periphery.

Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close propinquity with someone who has ceased to communicate.

Estrangement shows itself precisely in the elimination of distance between people.

There's certainly a loss of connection with folks on the ground who I care for and love and I want to spend time with.

Those reflective moments for me usually come from loneliness and separation from people.

Weeks go by, and I don't talk to another living soul.