…she had no resources for solitude… — Jane Austen, Persuasion
…she had no resources for solitude… — Jane Austen, Persuasion
…she had no resources for solitude… — Jane Austen, Persuasion
…she had no resources for solitude… — Jane Austen, Persuasion
…she had no resources for solitude… — Jane Austen, Persuasion
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…she had no resources for solitude…

— Jane Austen, Persuasion
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solitude

More “Solitude” Quotes

The solitude of writing is also quite frightening. It's quite close to madness, one just disappears for a day and loses — Nadine Gordimer, Conversations With Nadine Gordimer
When I was a child, I thought,Casually, that solitudeNever needed to be sought.Something everybody had,Like nakedness, i — Philip Larkin, Collected Poems
He had escaped the abhorrent taint! He was truly completely alone! He was the only human being in the world! — Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer
There is no greater solitude than that of the samurai unless it is that of the tiger in the jungle... Perhaps... — Jean-Pierre Melville
He liked the loneliness of inner space, the sense of being forgotten by the world. — Richard Preston, The Hot Zone: The Terrifying True Story of the Origins of the Ebola Virus
In the wide pile, by others heeded not,Hers was one sacred solitary spot,Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain — Walter Scott, Rob Roy
Always. At every moment, asleep and awake, during the most sublime and most abject moments, Amaranta thought of Rebeca, — Gabriel García Márquez
You need to establish a degree of privacy and solitude in order to write — Pamela Glass Kelly, From Inspiration to Publication: How to Succeed as a Children's Writer: Advice from 15 Award Winning Writers
My name it means nothingmy fortune is lessMy future is shrouded in dark wildernessSunshine is far away, clouds linger on — Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath - Master of Reality
For here, inside the crypt, was where he truly lived. Which is to say, for well over twenty hours a day in total darknes — Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer
As he took possession of it, he was overcome by a sense of something like sacred awe. He carefully spread his horse blan — Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer
He lay in his stony crypt like his own corpse, hardly breathing, his heart hardly beating - and yet lived as intensively — Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer