loneliness

Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.

It is clear that we must embrace struggle.  Every living thing conforms to it.  Everything in nature grows and struggles in its own way, establishing its own identity, insisting on it at all cost, against all resistance.  We can be sure of very little, but the need to court struggle is a surety that will not leave us.  It is good to be lonely, for being alone is not easy.  The fact that something is difficult must be one more reason to do it.

To love is also good, for love is difficult.  For one human being to love another is perhaps the most difficult task of all, the epitome, the ultimate test.  It is that striving for which all other striving is merely preparation.  For that reason young people - who are beginners in everything - cannot yet love; they do not know how to love.  They must learn it.

There is much suffering in the world - physical, material, mental. The suffering of some can be blamed on the greed of others. The material and physical suffering is suffering from hunger, from homelessness, from all kinds of diseases. But the greatest suffering is being lonely, feeling unloved, having no one. I have come more and more to realize that it is being unwanted that is the worst disease that any human being can ever experience.

The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself.

It's not enough to have lived. We should be determined to live for something. May I suggest that it be creating joy for others, sharing what we have for the betterment of personkind, bringing hope to the lost and love to the lonely.

You cannot be lonely if you like the person you're alone with.

Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils.

Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.

Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.