There is no place more lonelyThan a rich man's home. — Margarita Engle, The Firefly Letters
There is no place more lonelyThan a rich man's home. — Margarita Engle, The Firefly Letters
There is no place more lonelyThan a rich man's home. — Margarita Engle, The Firefly Letters
There is no place more lonelyThan a rich man's home. — Margarita Engle, The Firefly Letters
There is no place more lonelyThan a rich man's home. — Margarita Engle, The Firefly Letters
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There is no place more lonelyThan a rich man's home.

— Margarita Engle, The Firefly Letters
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loneliness spaces wealth

More “Loneliness” Quotes

Blessed with so many resources within myself the world was not necessary to me. I could do very well without it. — Jane Austen, Emma
I'm a lion in a strange land. — Criss Jami, Venus in Arms
Sometimes it was hard to breathe, knowing how small my world could be. Maybe in San Francisco it wouldn't feel like the — Heather Demetrios, I'll Meet You There
Even if the world is cruel, even if all I have is loneliness, I’ll still live with everything I’ve got. Even if this emo — Makoto Shinkai, Your Name.
Sitting in a corner, I live like a toad Oh! How I love my room: my tiny abode! Here I wake up; and I sleep in hereThe wo — Munia Khan
How lonely it is!To be drowning,in a placewhere everyone can swim. — B. Damani
I, sometimes, fear that probably I'll just keep changing cities, and may be someday I'll also travel the world, but neve — Sanhita Baruah
It was almost May. I knew that New York was getting warm now, that London was wet, that Rome was hot -- and I was on Vie — Hunter S. Thompson
Fame is an island, and right before the castaway, the getaway of being known without being known. — Criss Jami, Healology
I think I’ll feel out of place wherever I go on earth, forever. But that’s fine. I have to make my peace with that. — Laura Marling
Thus it had come about that she had read far more fiction, and far more poetry, those two sanctuaries of the lonely, tha — John Fowles, The French Lieutenant's Woman
The house was left; the house was deserted. It was left like a shell on a sandhill to fill with dry salt grains now that — Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse