Woodrow Wilson Quotes

I don't care if your world is ending today because I wasn't invited to it anyway.

I created the OASIS because I never felt at home in the real world. I didn't know how to connect with the people there.

Talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial.

Loneliness is caused by an alienation from life. It is a loneliness from your real self.

I felt a tremendous distance between myself and everything real.

I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.

She didn't want to have anything to do with the party. She was tired of feeling like she didn't fit in, but she didn't want to go home, either, because she was a tired of being lonely and she was a little drunk.

Did you ever feel like the whole world was going to a party and your invitation got lost in the mail?

The city had defeated her, just like they said it would. Like some overcrowded party, no one had noticed her arrival, and would notice if she left.

Fitzgerald describes the social disillusionments and ballroom romanticism of the young people of the upper classes and the loneliness of Gatsby, who gives large parties and has an extensive social life; yet he is lonely, and his guests scarcely know him.... Hemingway's characters live in a tourist world, and one of their major problems is that of consuming time itself. It is interesting to observe that his works are written from the stand point of the spectator. His characters are usually people who are looking--looking at bullfights, scenery, and at one another across cafe tables.

He found it both sad and fascinating that only through an artificial universe of video images could she establish contact with the real world.

The most evident quality of human life is its loneliness.

Novelty is a new kind of loneliness.

I am alone, I thought, and they are everybody.

The worst injury is feeling you don't belong so much / to you.

The burden of intelligence: you can always imagine all those wonderful places where you can never belong.

Vaguely at first, then more distinctly, I realized that man is an eternal stranger on this planet.

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.

I detest my fellow-beings and do not feel that I am their fellow at all

Everyone's alone - or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other; They make faces, and think they understand each other. And I'm sure they don't. Is that a delusion?

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.

If we don't accept loneliness, then capitalism wins hands down. Because capitalism is all about trying to convince people that you can distract yourself, that you can make it better. And it ain't true.

The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present.

Sometimes I would get invited to a party or to go out to dinner by one of them and I would decline. Part of me wanted to go, but those kind of outings always made me feel even more alienated than usual. Hearing them talk made me feel lonely and hateful at the same time. Lonely because I didn't fit in, never did. When I was reminded, it hurt. And hateful because it reaffirmed what I already knew, that I was alone and on the outside.

We are lost, she and I, unseen and not seeing, unheard and not hearing, unknown by others.