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    The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.

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  13  /  12  

Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars read more

Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars may never reach me anymore.

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Silence is one great art of conversation.

Silence is one great art of conversation.

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He that can live alone resembles the brute beast in nothing, the sage in much, and God in everything. - read more

He that can live alone resembles the brute beast in nothing, the sage in much, and God in everything. - The Art of Worldly Wisdom, 1647.

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Children love to be alone because alone is where they know themselves, and where they dream. - The Man in read more

Children love to be alone because alone is where they know themselves, and where they dream. - The Man in the Water, 1994.

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Only in solitude do we find ourselves; and in finding ourselves, we find in ourselves all our brothers in solitude. read more

Only in solitude do we find ourselves; and in finding ourselves, we find in ourselves all our brothers in solitude. - Essays and Soliloquies, 1924.

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The moment a man talks to his fellows he begins to lie. - The Silence of the Sea.

The moment a man talks to his fellows he begins to lie. - The Silence of the Sea.

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Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character. - Among My Books, 1870.

Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character. - Among My Books, 1870.

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To fly from, need not be to hate, makind: All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Nor read more

To fly from, need not be to hate, makind: All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Deep in its fountain. - Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, 1818.

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Regrets are idle; yet history is one long regret. Everything might have turned out so differently. - My Summer in read more

Regrets are idle; yet history is one long regret. Everything might have turned out so differently. - My Summer in a Garden.

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