David Foster Wallace Quotes

For twenty years I have ached to go back home, when there was nobody there to whom I could return.

The worst feeling in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home.

I'm homesick all the time. I miss my animals. I miss my family. I miss my friends.

I understand being alone. I understand not liking it, wishing for something else.

Chekhov is this poet of melancholy and isolation and of wishing you were somewhere else than where you are.

I'm not alone, but I am lonely without you.

I miss my father. I miss my grandfather. I miss my home. And I miss my mother. But the thing is, for almost three years, I managed not to miss any of them. And then I spent that one day with that one girl. One day ... It was like she gave me her whole self, and somehow as a result, I gave her more of myself than I even realized there was to give. But then she was gone. And only after I'd been filled up by her, by that day, did I understand how empty I really was.

Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.

He longed to be lost but he couldn't bear not to be found.

I've never really had anybody close to me die. I think the song is about a feeling that I have that, it still applies. It's a feeling of longing, once again.

The loneliness is when you pick up and move, even if you are not originally from that place, and you have some memories that you want to embrace. Having a life in transit, I feel like you are always looking out the back window.

I get homesick.

It's been tough for me being away from the game.

Getting through the nights is the toughest part. Being alone. Not having her there to talk to.

She bowed her head, clasping her hands tightly before her upon the arm of his chair, for her heart yearned towards him, yet could not reach him, and it made her throat ache with unhappiness to meet that look of his that rested on her face without seeing it.

It's so easy to get caught up in this weird life. This isn't normal and I'm not singing for people that live my life. I'm singing to the life I used to have. The life I want to have again.

You reach out your hand, but you're all alone, in those time passages.

Exile is not a time frame. Exile is an experience. It's a sentiment.

Contemplating Christmas when you are isolated and far from home brings its own unique pain.

I have to live within my memories, within my private universe, and continually return to China, the land where my thoughts are locked. This is a very painful kind of existence, this feeling of nowhereness.

I've always been an outsider. Even in London. If I returned to Scotland, I'd feel a complete foreigner.

I know how men in exile feed on dreams.

You can be around 100 people and be completely alone. People don't realize what it's really like.

You create a world away from home and make new rooms for yourself. But when you arrive back home in your old rooms, the world you've made for yourself ceases to be real. Everything seems to crumble. Anyone who's been sent away to boarding school can understand that.