Lonely feeling

Lonely Quotes — page 263 of 309

Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist, Short Story Writer, Journalist
Lonely

“She wanted to be herself again, to recover all that she had been obliged to give up in half a century of servitude that had doubtless made her happy but which, once her husband was dead, did not leave her even the vestiges of her identity.”

Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist, Short Story Writer, Journalist
Lonely

“we had made love without love, half-dressed most of the time and always in the dark so we could imagine ourselves as better than we were.”

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Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist, Short Story Writer, Journalist
Lonely

“He was carrying a suitcase with clothing in order to stay and another just like it with almost two thousand letters that she had written him. They were arranged by date in bundles ties with colored ribbons, and they were all unopened.”

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Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist, Short Story Writer, Journalist
Lonely

“And again, as always, after so many years we were still in the same place we always were.”

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Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist, Short Story Writer, Journalist
Lonely

“She let him finish, scratching his head with the tips of her fingers, and without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.”

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Gabriel Garcia Marquez Novelist, Short Story Writer, Journalist
Lonely

“Her heart of compressed ash, which had resisted the most telling blows of daily reality without strain, fell apart with the first waves of nostalgia.”

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Lonely

“When Eleanor's arm touched his he felt his hands grow cold with deadly fear lest he should lose the shadow brush with which his imagination was painting wonders of her. He watched her from the corners of his eyes as ever he did when he walked with her-- she was a feast and a folly and he wished it had been his destiny to sit forever on a haystack and see life through her green eyes.”

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Lonely

“As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host but the two or three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an amazed way and denied so vehemently an knowledge of his movements that I slunk off in the direction of the cocktail table--the only place in the garden where a single man could linger without looking purposeless and alone.”

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Lonely

“he wanted people to like his mind again-after awhile it might be such a nice place in which to live.”

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Lonely

“Travel, which had once charmed him, seemed, at length, unendurable, a business of color without substance, a phantom chase after his own dream's shadow.”

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Lonely

“He snatched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his burred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.”

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