A. A. Milne Quotes

I like melancholy. I like to pretend that I'm alone in the world and I'm just sort of abandoned.

--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

She was waiting, but she didn't know for what. She was aware only of her solitude, and of the penetrating cold, and of a greater weight in the region of her heart.

Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.

I was a shadow among shadows brooding over the fate of other shadows that I alone strove to summon up out of the all-pervading dusk.

I, too, seem to be a connoisseur of rain, but it does not fill me with joy; it allows me to steep myself in a solitude I nurse like a vice I've refused to vanquish.

Does it depress you? To know just how alone you really are?

I think, therefore I am confused.

What good is sitting all alone in your room?

Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

Existential philosophy, poetry and art - just like sadness - were all unavoidable to a tender young man in the meat works.

One day, at my office, I wrote down some names and dates and notes, and I wrote a title, 'The Age of Despair,' and then some other 'Ages' - Innocence, God, Reason, Hope - and I wrote this as well: 'Woman, born in 1930, lives till the age of 80 or so, suffers depression, marries a car dealer, has children who grow up to confuse her.'

Mr. Brad Delp. J'ai une ame solitaire. I am a lonely soul.

I was very depressed when I was 19... I would go back to my apartment every day and I would just sit there. It was quiet and it was lonely. It was still. It was just my piano and myself. I had a television and I would leave it on all the time just to feel like somebody was hanging out with me.

When I'm lying in my bed I think about life and I think about death and neither one particularly appeals to me.

The road is a lonely place, and that sounds like a cliche, you know, like what is my life?

There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.

There's a strong melancholic streak in me.

As a boy and even now, I am wont to melancholy. I do, probably once a day, experience a sincere heartbreak.

This solitude opressed her; she was accustomed to have her thoughts confirmed by others or, at all events, contradicted; it was too dreadful not to know whether she was thinking right or wrong.

Maybe I don't need a relationship after all, she thought. Maybe thinking about these conversations was just as good as having them. She could sit in her Honda in the dark and experience whatever kind of life she wanted. Sometimes you think, Hey, maybe there's something else out there. But there really isn't. This is what being alive feels like, you know? The place doesn't matter. You just live.

I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right.

I would certainly end up forever crying the blues into a coffee cup in a park for old men playing chess or silly games of some sort.

The observations and encounters of a devotee of solitude and silence are at once less distinct and more penetrating than those of the sociable man; his thoughts are weightier, stranger, and never without a tinge of sadness. Images and perceptions which might otherwise be easily dispelled by a glance, a laugh, an exchange of comments, concern him unduly, they sink into mute depths, take on significance, become experiences, adventures, emotions.

and sometimes I sit down at my typewriter and I think not of someone cause there isn't anyone to think about and i wonder is it worth it