Aidan Quinn Quotes

Whenever you're out of town, no matter modern communications, you feel a little bit out of touch.

The world changes fast, and a lot of the old country folks have a hard time keeping up with it, and it makes them sad.

I live here among the ignorant like a lost man in fact like one whom the rest seems careless of having anything to do with — they hardly dare talk in my company for fear I shoud mention them in my writings & I find more pleasure in wandering the fields then in mixing among my silent neighbours who are insensible of everything but toiling & talking of it & that to no purpose.

I often feel I'm working in a vacuum, or in a country where few readers hear the sounds.

I don't really talk to people.

Because no one thought she was a person, she had no one to really talk to.

The shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. "There's nothing left worth saying.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.

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

Maybe we had just gotten too used to being alone-- and maybe that needed to change.

What could be lonelier than trying to communicate?

He walked on in silence, the solitary sound of his footsteps echoing in his head, as in a deserted street, at dawn. His solitude was so complete, beneath a lovely sky as mellow and serene as a good conscience, amid that busy throng, that he was amazed at his own existence; he must be somebody else's nightmare, and whoever it was would certainly awaken soon.

Not that we were incompatible: we just had nothing to talk about.

Nothing echoes like an empty mailbox.

And when you don't have to talk to the person next to you, that's real clean. Takes a certain thing not to try to keep anything up, not to have to entertain one another.

My marriage didn't make me sad, but it didn't make me happy either. My husband and I hardly spoke to each other. This wasn't because we were angry. We had nothing to say. I was dying of boredom.

Instead, we just sat there, together but really apart, watching a show about a stranger and all her secrets, while keeping our own to ourselves, as always.

In the end, the only thing between us was silence.

The only thing nicer than a phone that didn't ring all the time (or indeed at all) was six phones that didn't ring all the time (or indeed at all).

Sharing a room with a cadaver is only mildly different from being in a room alone. They are the same sort of company as people across from you on subways or in airport lounges, there but not there. Your eyes keep going back to them, for lack of anything more interesting to look at, and then you feel bad for staring.

The burden of the incommunicable.

It's hard to be natural in a scene when you pick up the phone and no one is there.

Great talkers are trying to fill the gap between themselves and others, but only widen it.

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!

"Is it how she moves, or how she looks?" I say it's loneliness suspended to our own like grappling hooks, And as long as she's got noise, she's fine. But I could teach her how I learned to dance when the music's ended.