The theory of attachment is same for humans and computers. Unknown sender's attachment is blocked..Known sender's attachment is accepted or ignored..Heavy attachments are annoying..Too heavy attachments do not reach..No attachment is the best option!
I thought the love I'd had for him belonged to the past, to the foolish, lonely girl I never wanted to be again. I'd tried to bury that girl and the love she'd felt, just as I'd tried to bury my power. But I wouldn't make that mistake again.
He looked down at me without recognition, and I realized with a little stab of anxiety that he must have forgotten all about me, perhaps for some considerable time, and that he himself was so lost in the labyrinth of his own unquiet thoughts that I did not exist.
When I’m lonely I stand in the corner and play my saxophone and feel sorry for myself. I would ask you to accompany me on the piano, but if I did that I wouldn’t be lonely, would I? And what’s the point of a saxophone if not to celebrate despair?
... even though it was beautiful and comfortable, and even though it was the world, it was also a little bit boring. No, wait. Maybe boring isn’t the right word. What’s the word I’m wanting here? Lonely. That’s it. It was a little bit lonely.
Rain makes me feel less alone. All rain is, is a cloud- falling apart, and pouring its shattered pieces down on top of you. It makes me feel good to know I'm not the only thing that falls apart . It makes me feel better to know other things in nature can shatter.
If you weren't built for this life, you'd be dead by now. i think the problem is people don't share enough of their pain with the world, so they never know who else is in pain, too, and what others are going through. we're never really alone in anything.
Can you be alone without being lonely? Can you spend time by yourself without craving noise or company of other people? Have you discovered the glory of quiet time spent alone, time spent listening to your soul? Solitude brings with it gifts that come from nowhere else.
He couldn't remember the last time human hands had willingly touched him. Not true. Miranda had. She had touched him as if he were just a man. He had lived on those moments ever since, pulled them to the fore when loneliness threatened to suck him down and drown him
Do you know that pain of leaving when you look back expecting to see a face waving goodbye at you but all you see is a dark abandoned corner?There won't be any reason to return then.All you can do is look ahead and not to stumble and fall on the pit ahead waiting for you.
I've been trying not to think about the things I wanted but couldn't have.I figured life must be about what you can't have.Some part of me has given up wanting anything. Why? I'm human, aren't I?Even though I knew that this was pointless.Why did I fall in love?
The problem with making a virtual world of oneself is akin to the problem with projecting ourselves onto a cyberworld: there’s no end of virtual spaces in which to seek stimulation, but their very endlessness, the perpetual stimulation without satisfaction, becomes imprisoning.
Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes.Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. You’re doing just fine.
as long as there arehuman beings aboutthere is never going to beany peacefor any individualupon this earth (oranywhere elsethey mightescape to).all you can dois maybe grabten lucky minuteshereor maybe an hourthere.somethingis working toward youright now, andI mean youand nobody butyou.
Sometimes the emptiness in a room becomes palpable as if you could reach out and touch it real, hear its silence, feel its black nothingness. It invades your spirit, your soul like a stealthy misperception; a liquid lie that whispers and will not die, and makes you fight to stay alive.
