Frederic Chopin Quotes

Do you know what it's like to love and be alone?

He says he’s lonely, horribly lonely because of this love he feels for her. She says she’s lonely too. She doesn’t say why.

The last time I saw him he was walking down lover's lane holding his own hand.

One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.

We only consult the ear because the heart is wanting.

He who loves 50 people has 50 woes; he who loves no one has no woes.

You know, that single girl life and that sense of isolation - that doesn't leave you just like that. And that's what that song is about. I remember that, and that is imprinted on me, that sense.

The worst solitude is to have no real friendships.

It is very possible that I could have ended up on 80 acres of land by myself, and fallen in love at a distance with a gorgeous woman I could never have been with.

There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.

It is misery, you know, unspeakable misery for the man who lives alone and who detests sordid, casual affairs; not old enough to do without women, but not young enough to be able to go and look for one without shame!

You are forever alone.

Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.

You can always write a song about people who are in love, but they're in love, so they're happy; they don't need you. But the people that I try to worry about are the ones who don't have anyone to give chocolate to, and the girl who doesn't have flowers coming to her.

Every time I look at you I get a fierce desire to be lonesome.

If the club was empty, I sang to the chairs.

A lot of my songs are about loneliness and losing relationships. Even the ones that are happy, there's a lonely undertone to them.

Alone, he must bear the weight of a sin he dare not confess to the one person he loves…and has lost.

Not the swart Pariah in some Indian grove, Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's hate, Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love: He bears a load which nothing can remove, A killing, withering weight.

Let him love none and be by none beloved!

I've often been the guy who doesn't get the girl.

Beauty is ever to the lonely mind a shadow fleeting; she is never plain. She is a visitor who leaves behind the gift of grief, the souvenir of pain.

In the silence of night I have often wished for just a few words of love from one man, rather than the applause of thousands of people.

No one ever discovers the depths of his own loneliness.