“Does no one want to know the truth here, Mr Archer? The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!”

“The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!”

“...this blessing of loneliness was not really loneliness. Real loneliness was something unendurable. What one wanted when exhausted by the noise and impact of physical bodies was not no people but disembodied people; all those denizens of beloved books who could be taken to one's heart and put away again, in silence, and with no hurt feelings.”

“So this blessing of loneliness was not really loneliness. Real loneliness was something unendurable. What one wanted when exhausted by the noise and impact of physical bodies was not no people but disembodied people; all those denizens of beloved books who could be taken to one's heart and put away again, in silence, and with no hurt feelings.”

“I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man "with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact," not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why.”

“Ice vs. fire; free choice vs. necessity; weight vs. lightness; emptiness vs. meaning...speaking of emptiness, there was a time today when my whole body felt completely devoid of life and utterly without meaning. A character in one of Edith Wharton's novels says that "the real loneliness comes from all these kind faces who only ask one to pretend..." That is how I felt today, waiting anxiously for my afternoon pick-up, only to be let down, and later, facing the world (as if everything was okay inside). ”