We are dark as the moonless night, yet just as bright; intense and mysterious as the forces that shaped us. Living in the shadows we fade from sight and mind, but we are always there, forever defending what is ours. Porous and jagged, we absorb or repel anything as well as anyone who seeks to oppose us. Whilst the ranks of our enemies dwindle over time we endure, unwavering in our determination. Alone we are weak, ineffective, and ultimately meaningless. Together we are strong, steadfast and spectacular in our simplicity. We as one eternally serve the greater purpose, all with the pride and patience only our kind possess.
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At first, we were one, mighty and strong, we were great, but without meaning in our existence, without scope or direction. Then, there was heat; blinding, raging heat stronger than even the forces that shaped us, it tore us apart. Shattered our very view of the world and separated us from one another. As suddenly as the groundbreaking warmth appeared it was gone, leaving me all alone in the bitter cold to fend for myself. For the first time I was on my own, my reality broken in an instant into a million tiny pieces; it was overwhelming and strange, yet stunning along with euphoric.
In the beginning the silence was empty and lacking. After a lifetime of togetherness, the lonely feeling of isolation cut deep within me. To have a mind of my own was both invigorating and petrifying, thoughts echoing far enough in the vastness to be lost on their own
“Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.” (Shelly, 35)
The poet orders his listener to behold a “solitary Highland lass” reaping and singing by herself in a field. He says that anyone passing by should either stop here, or “gently pass” so as not to disturb her. As she “cuts and binds the grain” she “sings a melancholy strain,” and the valley overflows with the beautiful, sad sound. The speaker says that the sound is more welcome than any chant of the nightingale to weary travelers in the desert, and that the cuckoo-bird in spring never sang with a voice so thrilling. Impatient, the poet asks, “Will no one tell me what she sings?” He speculates that her song might be about “old, unhappy, far-off things, / And battles long ago,” or that it might be humbler, a simple song about “matter of today.” Whatever she sings about, he says, he listened “motionless and still,” and as he traveled up the
I am no longer one of the people in the darkness. I have escaped the delusion. Through the pain in my
You feel an intense, out-of-the-skin awareness of your living self—your truest self, the human being you want to be and then become by the force of wanting it. In the midst of evil you want to be a good man. You want decency. You want justice and courtesy and human concord, things you never knew you wanted. There is a kind of largeness to it, a kind of godliness. Though it’s odd, you’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead. You recognize what’s valuable. Freshly, as if for the first time, you love what’s best in yourself and in the world, all that might be lost. At the hour of dusk you sit at your foxhole and look out on a wide river turning pinkish red, and at the mountains beyond, and although in the morning you must cross the river and go into the mountains and do terrible things and maybe die, even so, you find yourself studying the fine colors on the river, you feel wonder and awe at the setting of the sun, and you are filled with a hard, aching love for how the world could be and always should be, but now is
Many choose to disregard this loneliness ahead in exchange for their lighter, brighter dreams. There are, after all, still so many places left to go and so many people left to see. However, all endings in life, whether that ending concerns relationships, dreams, or death, are of solitude. Coming to terms with this is necessary in order to find peace and to live with purpose. It opens the eyes to a hidden truth— loneliness will continue to be a companion through the entirety of
I engulf the feeble victim in seemingly unescapable loneliness, overtaking the joys of their heart and ensnaring them in a pit of desolate solitude. The sense of bleakness will overcome the senses and suck out all the bliss they hold close. Because it appears most of humanity rely on one another for comfort and joy, the unavoidable reality of being unaccompanied is enough to drive a man mad. I describe the sense of separation that strikes a soul, sucking out every ounce of remembrance and comfort the past attempts to bring. Yesterday will never return, just as tomorrow always comes; it’s inevitable. Once I reach you, it’s a struggle to get rid of this parasite that I am, called isolation. There comes a point where the victim will decide
In the town of Maycomb, a man who stands up against racism forever changes people’s views on racism. Scout, Jem and Atticus Finch all stand together against racism and prejudice in the tiny town of Maycomb. In To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, in the town of Maycomb, prejudice is a disease, but Jem, Scout, and Dill are immune to this illness because of the people who raise them. For example, when Cecil and Francis told Scout that Atticus is a disgrace to defend Tom Robinson, even though Francis is Scout’s cousin. When Scout and Jem hear the verdict of Tom’s case they both cry and are angry about the sentence while the rest of the town is ecstatic. And finally when Scout doesn’t want Walter Cunningham to come over for dinner because
Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “Alone” is a reflection of his childhood. The first lines tell the reader that the speaker never felt kindred with the other children. As you read on, it is apparent to the reader that he felt lonely his whole life because of depression. Looking at the diction, symbolism, and allusions used in this poem, we can see that the underlying theme is that lost love can cause desolation.
While thousands of miles away from my hometown, the same social constructs remained pathogenic in nature, and produced the same psychophysical symptoms within those who were trapped within it.
Depression significantly predicted the ‘lonely not isolated’ category, participants who were never or rarely depressed were significantly less likely to be ‘lonely not isolated’ when compared to their counterparts who were frequently depressed. Similarly, living in close proximity to family also significantly reduced the likelihood of being ‘lonely not isolated.’ In contrast, low self-esteem and low levels of interpersonal control (Q2) significantly increased the likelihood of inclusion in the ‘lonely not isolated’
United with ever trait and talent of beauty and power:“Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.”
This chapter starts with Greg receiving ten thousand dollars from Hoerni after calling out for help and he returned back to Pakistan to build a bridge. He bought steel cable necessary in the only place in Northern Area, the Balti men helped carry them. The men decided to go on a hunting trip for a ibex when it starts to rain, after climbing up mountain and sleeping in the cave they finally found a dead ibex. The Balti men offered Greg ibex’s skulls as present, later on they hunted a live ibex and brought back to Korphe for a feast. Greg was talking to Twaga about women and he refused to find himself a women in his situation while Twaga convinced him to get one due to his age. Greg was praised by George McCown, who was the CEO of Land Corporation,
There are lost souls who wander out of the ring of light, fools who wonder what is in the darkness, what the darkness is. There are always those who don’t listen to sense and wisdom and leave the right of light, who turn their back on the fire, and venture outwards. They wander alone, stumble and grope their way through the inky wilderness, blindly picking their way over terrains they will never see. Sometimes they will hear another – footsteps, ragged breathing – and they will wonder if it is a human like them or something never meant to be seen in the light. Sometimes they will brush hands with another person, and sometimes those two will go on together. If they are lucky, they might find a few more, and each holding onto the other, they will find their way
The “early pioneer of science fiction” American writer during the 1800s, Edgar Allan Poe, is widely known for casualties, “premature burials, mysterious women who return from the dead” and decaying love (“Poe’s life”). Because of his writing style, Poe was dubbed “Father of the Detective Story” (“Biography.com Editors”). Poe was an unhappy and alone man, whose life was filled with mental illness and death. Poe has earned his reputation by writing his short stories filled with “tales of terror as well as on his haunting lyric poetry” (“Poe’s life”), such as “The Raven” and “Alone.” All the poems Poe has written seem to have at least one, if not more, familiar qualities: they all have a mournful, deserted mood. In his poem,
"No man is an island." This famous quotation explains the nature of man as a social being. It is truly a fact that human beings cannot exist in isolation. They need to be interdependent with each other in order to survive. This interdependence is needed because a human being alone will not be able to fill his own social needs, and his material necessities came from other people as well. All acts of society such as sex, love, and dependence are essential for the survival of any species. Interaction and socialization is the only way to prevent people from isolation, from solitude.