Leonard Bernstein Quotes

Little as she was addicted to solitude, there had come to be moments when it seemed a welcome escape from the empty noises of her life.

I want to be alone ... I just want to be alone.

I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there.

I'm disappearing, avoiding most things.

Solitary. But not in the sense of being alone. Not solitary in the way Thoreau was, for example, exiling himself in order to find out where he was; not solitary in the way Jonah was, praying for deliverance in the belly of the whale. Solitary in the sense of retreat. In the sense of not having to see himself, of not having to see himself being seen by anyone else.

That idea of escapism... these words could sum up my life.

I need, absolutely, to be alone.

The only peace is being out of earshot.

I love to shut out the world sometimes and hibernate.

The time when most of you should withdraw into yourself is when you are forced to be in a crowd.

I need to go someplace faraway that doesn't have telephones and doesn't have a record player and doesn't have movie theaters and people walking down the street in order to not do anything.

In my deepest troubles, I frequently would wrench myself from the persons around me and retire to some secluded part of our noble forests.

I don't really see many people... don't really go anywhere either.

Short of taking monastic vows or trekking into the Kalahari, a freighter passage might just offer what our relentlessly connected age has made difficult, if not impossible: splendid isolation.

I tend to be a bit of a hermit. A bit monkish. I like to tune out the context.

I became a recluse many times and enjoyed a private life I didn't have during the '60s.

I love to be a hermit.

I would never crawl into a secret space to avoid the frustrating things.

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.

her spirits wanted the solitude and silence which only numbers could give.

In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead

Solitude may rust your words.

There is something about silence and being in the middle of nowhere that is really very attractive.

The only refuge left to us was the poet's ivory tower, which we climbed, ever higher, to isolate ourselves from the mob.

Silence was his escape, but silence is rarely a refuge.