[I realized] I can’t tell your story, I can only tell mine. I can’t be you, I can only be me.

Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret must be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.

This truth—to prove, and make thine own: ‘Thou hast been, shalt be, art, alone.’

I avow myself the partisan of truth alone.

The only prison is myself.

As I shall lie in the grave alone, so in fact I live alone.

Throughout the heavens and earth, I alone am the honored one

From my silence, only my voice is missing.

I want to proclaim a truth that would forever exile me from among the living. I know only the conditions but not the words that would allow me to formulate it.

The truth is now the lot of the loner with, unfortunately, very limited means of disseminating their ideas and influencing the masses. p. 695

I can only help myself.

With some people solitariness is an escape not from others but from themselves. For they see in the eyes of others only a reflection of themselves.

Be alone, that is the secret of invention; be alone, that is when ideas are born.

I am the escaped one,
After I was born
They locked me up inside me
But I left.
My soul seeks me,
Through hills and valley,
I hope my soul
Never finds me.