Lonely Christmas Quotes

One strain could call up the quivering expectancy of Christmas Eve, childhood, joy and sadness, the lonely wonder of a star

You poor lonely boy,' she cried, 'it's so dreadful for you to have no parents.' Well, as my mother was a whore, and my father a drunk, I daresay I don't miss much.

I was told The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7 She picks the colors and the cake first By the age of 10 She knows time, And location By 17 She’s already chosen a gown 2 bridesmaids And a maid of honor By 23 She’s waiting for a man Who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment” Someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely Someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed Someone Who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen To be honest I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing I have no clue what want my wedding will look like But I imagine The women who pins my last to hers Will butterfly down the aisle Like a 5 foot promise I imagine Her smile Will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps And know exactly where our wedding is being held The woman that I plan to marry Will have champagne in her walk And I will get drunk on her footsteps When the pastor asks If I take this woman to be my wife I will say yes before he finishes the sentence I’ll apologize later for being impolite But I will also explain him That our first kiss happened 6 years ago And I’ve been practicing my “Yes” For past 2, 165 days When people ask me about my wedding I never really know what to say But when they ask me about my future wife I always tell them Her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long I say She thinks too much Misses her father Loves to laugh And she’s terrible at lying Because her face never figured out how to do it correctl I tell them If my alarm clock sounded like her voice My snooze button would collect dust I tell them If she came in a bottle I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys If she was a book I would memorize her table of contents I would read her cover-to-cover Hoping to find typos Just so we can both have a few things to work on Because aren’t we all unfinished? Don’t we all need a little editing? Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone? Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense She don’t always make sense But her imperfections are the things I love about her the most I don’t know when I will be married I don’t know where I will be married But I do know this Whenever I’m asked about my future wife I always say …She’s a lot like you

How do you make a living if you’re writing a book?” Joshua asked. The boy was getting a bike for Christmas that’s all there was to it. David squirmed in his seat. “It doesn’t pay anything yet.” “So, then what do you do to pay the bills?” Joshua asked. Forget the bike, he was getting a go-cart.

as long as you had a good book for company, you never needed to feel lonely.

Christmas is a holiday that persecutes the lonely, the frayed and the dejected.

Money doesn't make you happy," Mom insists, whipping carrots and lettuce out of the cart. "Money doesn't make you laugh when you're lonely, or make you full of contentment on Christmas morning.

It’s not complicated and it doesn’t compare to my problem, now give me a damn cookie I think I earned it,” Jill snapped. Chris grinned like it was Christmas morning. “Yes, you did.” He brought her a cookie. “Very good, my young one. You’ve made Chris very happy with this little tidbit of information.

Christmas is frighteningly magical and mysterious. No wonder people feel lonely in the midst of their families, and unloved in the act of receiving gifts. Christmas is that place where the expectation of happiness confronts the reality of human sadness, where joy to the world means the judgment of mankind.

I kept my head down, away from the biting air and the joy of the holiday. I didn't want to be reminded of Christmases past. No associations, no heartstrings snagged on a tree in a window, no memories.

This dog had shown more courage than I. This great, powerful, beautiful dog was willing to take a chance on me - a broken, depressed, lonely Marine.

But all I could think about was that lonely dog, left alone to guard an empty gas station on Christmas day.

At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he used to be.

Loneliness is how you know something is missing,’ I said. ‘Feeling lonely means you haven’t given up hope.

Whenever you feel sad and lonely, if you will just find somebody sadder and lonelier than yourself and cheer them up, it will make you all right.

His eyes were sharp but kind, and it seemed to amuse him to see children misbehave when he knew that deep down they didn't really want to misbehave, but were just feeling lonely or misunderstood or wanted to go outside and play instead of sitting in a hot classroom. (26)

I don't give a flying flip who you are or that you're a foot and a half taller than me and probably outweigh me by more than eighty pounds. Get out of my way so I can see for myself that Barry's okay.” I almost laugh at the normally shy Ricky's demanding voice but I'm thinking he wouldn't appreciate it. “Now, Mr. Chief Reindeer.” “Oh, hell.” It's not so amusing when the elf is threatening the second most powerful being in the North Pole.

I’ll find my group one day. Friends I belong with, a city, a community, a place to get all those ideas out and let them be heard and appreciated. I’ll be something one day. I know I will.
 For now I’m walking lonely in Prague at Christmas, feeling like the happiest, most unknown girl in the world.

Could it be? Yes, it is! Broccoli kicks the bucket. A Christmas miracle. God bless us, every one.

I was so lonely I used to have conversations with—” “The moon,” I say softly, tears gliding down my cheeks as I remember his confession about the sky.

Charlie continued to complain to most of the tenants when they wished him a merry Christmas, changing his story from the lonely bachelor to the poor father, and back again,

To other cities, other machines, other forests of buildings of concrete where other men and women missed the stars at night and tended small plants on windowsills and kept tiny dogs and took them for walks along corridors in the endless procession of boxes and intersections and lights; where they rented space in other peoples's property so they had somewhere to sleep so they could get up and perform profit-related tasks they neither understood nor cared about, simply so they would be given the tokens of exchange they needed in order to rent the space in which they slept and snarled and watched television until finally some of them slipped out of the window and ran howling down the dark streeets, throwing off a numbness handed down from a society that was itself trapped in fracture and betrayal and despair; the lonely insane in a culture turning into a Christmas bauble, gaudy beauty wrapped around an emptiness coalescing faster and faster into parking lots and malls and waiting areas and virtual chat rooms--non places where nobody knew anything about anybody anymore.

Then came that terrible Christmas with its awful presents when our father, with the vanity I was to find typical, sent his photograph. My gift from Mother was a tea set—a teapot, four cups and saucers and tiny spoons-and a doll with blue eyes and rosy cheeks and yellow hair painted on her head. I didn't know what Bailey received, but after I opened my boxes I went out to the backyard behind the chinaberry tree. The day was cold and the air as clear as water. Frost was still on the bench but I sat down and cried. I looked up and Bailey was coming from the outhouse, wiping his eyes. He had been crying too. I didn't know if he had also told himself they were dead and had been rudely awakened to the truth or whether he was just feeling lonely. The gifts opened the door to questions that neither of us wanted to ask. Why did they send us away? and What did we do so wrong? So Wrong? Why at three and four, did we have tags put on our arms to be sent by train alone from Long Beach, California, to Stamps, Arkansas, with only the porter to look after us?

How stupid. My mom and dad had lost each other, and for what? So they could fit better at their parents’ tables at Christmas and Passover? So their brothers and sisters could be comfortable? The families who had worked so hard to tear them apart had gone smugly back to their own lives after it was over. I didn’t see any of my grandparents more than once a year. I got colorful birthday cards with twenty-­dollar bills in them from my aunts and uncles on my birthday. Meanwhile, my parents spent their lives so lonely. Dad wandered, seeking home in a mistress’s Mimmy-­canted face. Mimmy waited, her lamp trimmed, for a day that never came. Meanwhile, all they’d ever wanted was alive inside the other.

Holy night, holy night! Peace on high held in the stars' yoke! All—that ever the Light had broke, Is rejoined now, Both flesh and brow Bleed sweetly in the red-dusk! Bjelbog's Spear, Bjelbog's Spear Sinks to the heart of the drunk earth, Which—with a sign of holy mirth A lone rose-bloom Within the womb Of the darkest desire dips. Spotless bride, spotless bride! Your sweet contrition—cover up, When the full-filled wedding cup Yet overflows. Thus also goes Into the fierce Night the Day!

Somehow, not only for Christmas but all the long year through, the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing the poor and lonely and sad, the more of your heart’s possessing returns to you glad. —John Greenleaf Whittier

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS From Ray Bradbury Imagine that you have been dead for a year, ten years, one hundred years, a thousand years. The grave and night have taken and kept you in that silence and dark which says nothing and so reveals absolutely zero. In the middle of all this darkness and being alone and bereft of sense, let us imagine that God comes to your still soul and lonely body and says: I will give you one minute of ife. I will restore you to your body and senses for sixty seconds. Out of all the minutes in your life, choose one, I will put you in that minute, and you will be alive again after a hundred, a thousand years of darkness. Which is it? Think. Speak. Which do you choose? And the answer is: Any minute. Any minute at all! Oh, God, Sweet Christ, oh mystery, give me any minute in all my life. And the further answer is: When I lived I didn't know that every minute was special, precious a gift, a miracle, an incredible thing, an impossible work, an amazing dream. But not, Like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Morn, with snow in the air and the promise of rebirth given, I know what I should have known in my dumb shambles: That all is a lark, and it is a beauty beyond tears, and also a terror. But I dance about, I become a child, I am the boy who runs for the great bird in the window and I am the man who sends the boy running for that bird, and I am the life that blows in the snowing wind along that street, and the bells that sound and say: live, love, for too soon will your name which is shaped in the snow melt, of your soul which is inscribed like a breath of vapor on a cold glass pane fade. Run, run, lad, run, down the middle of Christmas at the center of life.

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to the moaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as death – it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh.

So walk across the street, or drive across town, or fly across the country, but don’t let really intimate loving friendships become the last item on a long to-do list. Good friendships are like breakfast. You think you’re too busy to eat breakfast, but then you find yourself exhausted and cranky halfway through the day, and discover that your attempt to save time totally backfired. In the same way, you can try to go it alone because you don’t have time or because your house is too messy to have people over, or because making new friends is like the very worst parts of dating. But halfway through a hard day or a hard week, you’ll realize in a flash that you’re breathtakingly lonely, and that the Christmas cards aren’t much company.

Share your life with the people you love, even if it means saving up for a ticket and going without a few things for a while to make it work. There are enough long lonely days of the same old thing, and if you let enough years pass, and if you let the routine steamroll your life, you’ll wake up one day, isolated and weary, and wonder what happened to all those old friends. You’ll wonder why all you share is Christmas cards, and why life feels lonely and bone-dry.

He thought of the lonely evening ahead of him and wondered whether he should telephone to some of his friends, but decided that it would be of little use. They would all be doing things by now. He also thought of the wonderful energy of other people, of how they not only had the energy to do things all day but also to make arrangements and plans for these things which they did. It as as much as he could manage to do the things, he knew that he would never be able to make the plans as well.

I'll end up with a boatload of, I don't even know... chairs that'll remind me of my failure for years to come. Eventually I'll start conversing to the chairs because I'm so bitter and lonely, and before you know it, I'll start treating them as my children, and you'll start receiving Christmas cards from me and my family of chairs. I'll die surrounded by my chair children, and you'll have to transport them all to my funeral and set them up next to the grave, which is both sad and convenient because my human mourners, the few there might be, can sit on my kids.' -Kai

During the first year Patty lived with the Murrays, they found her to be industrious, docile, and faithful—and yet she was not happy and had not found with them all she expected. They were kind to her, providing plenty of food and not too much work. They clothed her comfortably, let her go to church, and did not scold her very often. But no one showed that they loved her, no one praised her efforts, no one seemed to think that she had any hope or wish beyond her daily work; and no one saw in the shy, quiet little maiden a lonely, tenderhearted girl longing for a crumb of the love so freely given to the children of the home.

He halted the horse and simply listened. This was the sound that had drawn his path to Sophie’s, a purely unhappy, discontent sound, but unmistakably human. Kit, and he wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t tired, either; this was his lonely cry, the lament he sent out when he needed to be held and cuddled and reassured. This was the simplest and most sincere form of a human being demanding to be loved. The boy wanted Sophie, and he didn’t second-guess his entitlement to her, didn’t stop to fret about long-ago insults and innuendos and violins, didn’t worry about titles or any other damned thing that stood between him and what he needed to be happy. Mercifully,

I have had the experience over and over again that the quieter it is around me, the clearer do I feel the connection to you. It is as though in solitude the soul develops senses which we hardly know in everyday life. Therefore I have not felt lonely or abandoned for one moment. You, the parents, all of you, the friends and students of mine at the front, all are constantly present to me…. Therefore you must not think me unhappy. What is happiness and unhappiness? It depends so little on the circumstances; it depends really only on that which happens inside a person.8 Bonhoeffer’s final Christmastime letter to fiancée Maria von Wedemeyer, December 19, 1944

Grandpa had been a farmer and lived contentedly on the old place until he died, but his four sons wanted to be something better, so they went away one after the other to make their way in the world. All worked hard, earned a good living, and forgot, as far as possible, the dull lives they had led in the old place from which they had come. They were all good sons in their own way and had each offered his mother a home with him if she cared to come. But Grandma clung to the old home, the simple ways, and the quiet life. She thanked them gratefully, but chose to remain in the big farmhouse, empty, lonely, and plain though it was compared to the fine homes in which her sons lived.

Christmas comes and goes as if it never happened. The white lights strangle the tree half on and half off, just like the new lace thong string panties that I got myself for Gym class days it was a gift to me from me. I had them on today… yet they were uncomfortable there. I do not want to stain them, so I took them off myself- this time, so I set them beside me on the floor. My old ones have been torn and they were washed far too many times. I am sitting just like the lonely tree in the living room, in the bay window nook, I am hugging my teddy bear, yet for me- this is what happens every day; even when it is not Christmas. However, as of now looking over this room, the tree is dying and the mantle of the fireplace is73 completely naked too. Why has the mantle remained untouched?

If I cried just now in church it wasn’t for the reason that you thought. I’ve cried enough for that, heaven knows, but just then it was for something different. I felt so lonely. All those people, they have a country, and in that country, homes; to-morrow they’ll spend Christmas Day together, father and mother and children; some of them, like you, went only to hear the music, and some have no faith, but just then, all of them, they were joined together by a common feeling; that ceremony, which they’ve known all their lives, and whose meaning is in their blood, every word spoken, every action of the priests, is familiar to them, and even if they don’t believe with their minds, the awe, the mystery, is in their bones and they believe with their hearts; it is part of the recollections of their childhood, the gardens they played in, the countryside, the streets of the towns. It binds them together, it makes them one, and some deep instinct tells them that they belong to one another.

―The thing about memory is that you can feel it eroding slowly, being stolen away from you by time. It starts with the way you stop hearing his voice in your head. Then it's the color of the shirt he wore last Christmas. Before you know it, your memories have become fragmented, as if the small details were grains of sand blown away by the wind. I should be grateful that I'm starting to remember you less. Instead, I felt lonely. Pieces of you that I once held dear are being ripped apart into tiny shreds of information my brain thinks I can afford to forget. I can feel my heart fighting. It loves the feel of you though for the most part, you hurt. I looked for you in places where I knew I would never find you, in faces I knew I would never recognize. I looked for you hoping that through the sheer force of my will I would find your eyes staring back. But that's the thing about memory - you can feel it eroding slowly, being stolen away from you by time. I want to remember you. But I'm no longer entirely sure I really remember you. It kills me. Have you started remembering me less too?

That?” cried Charley with astonishment. “A loaf of bread and a flagon of wine? Of course it’s very well painted.” “Yes, you’re right; it’s very well painted; it’s painted with pity and love. It’s not only a loaf of bread and a flagon of wine; it’s the bread of life and the blood of Christ, but not held back from those who starve and thirst for them and doled out by priests on stated occasions; it’s the daily fare of suffering men and women. It’s so humble, so natural, so friendly; it’s the bread and wine of the poor who ask no more than that they should be left in peace, allowed to work and eat their simple food in freedom. It’s the cry of the despised and rejected. It tells you that whatever their sins men at heart are good. That loaf of bread and that flagon of wine are symbols of the joys and sorrows of the meek and lowly. They ask for your mercy and your affection; they tell you that they’re of the same flesh and blood as you. They tell you that life is short and hard and the grave is cold and lonely. It’s not only a loaf of bread and a flagon of wine; it’s the mystery of man’s lot on earth, his craving for a little friendship and a little love, the humility of his resignation when he sees that even they must be denied him.” Lydia

Barnaby Fanning was the lone offspring of a marriage between two of New Orleans’ finest families. Growing up in a Garden District mansion so iconic it was a stop on all the tours, the future heir to sugar and cotton fortunes both, his adolescence spent at debutante balls during the season and trips abroad during the summer: it was the stuff of true Southern gentlemen. But Bucky always refused the first table at a restaurant. He carried a pocket calculator so he could tip a strict twelve percent. When his father nudged him out of the nest after graduating Vanderbilt (straight Cs), Bucky fluttered only as far as the carriage house because no other address would suit. He sported head-to-toe Prada bought on quarterly pilgrimages to Neiman Marcus in Dallas, paid for by Granny Charbonneau. At the slightest perceived insult, Bucky would fly into rages, becoming so red-faced and spitty in the process that even those on the receiving end of his invective grew concerned for his health. During the holidays, Bucky would stand over the trash and drop in Christmas cards unopened while keeping mental score of who’d sent them. He never accepted a dinner invitation without first asking who else would be there. Bucky Fanning had never been known to write a thank-you note.

Then old Mrs. Gadshill rang, and when she wished him a merry Christmas, he hung his head. “It isn’t much of a holiday for me, Mrs. Gadshill,” he said. “Christmas is a sad season if you’re poor. You see, I don’t have any family. I live alone in a furnished room.” “I don’t have any family either, Charlie,” Mrs. Gadshill said. She spoke with a pointed lack of petulance, but her grace was forced. “That is, I don’t have any children with me today. I have three children and seven grandchildren, but none of them can see their way to coming East for Christmas with me. Of course, I understand their problems. I know that it’s difficult to travel with children during the holidays, although I always seemed to manage it when I was their age, but people feel differently, and we mustn’t condemn them for the things we can’t understand. But I know how you feel, Charlie. I haven’t any family either. I’m just as lonely as you.” Mrs. Gadshill’s speech didn’t move him. Maybe she was lonely, but she had a ten-room apartment and three servants and bucks and bucks and diamonds and diamonds, and there were plenty of poor kids in the slums who would be happy at a chance at the food her cook threw away. Then he thought about poor kids. He sat down on a chair in the lobby and thought about them.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel “T hey shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us)” (Matthew 1:23 ESV). This is perhaps our oldest Christmas carol. Historians say its roots go back to the 8th century. In its earliest form, it was a “plain song” or a chant and the monks sang it a cappella. It was sung or chanted in Latin during the seven days leading up to Christmas. Translated into English by John Mason Neale in 1851, we sing it to the tune “Veni, Emmanuel,” a 15th-century melody. Many churches sing it early in the Advent season because of its plaintive tone of expectant waiting. Traditionally Advent centers on the Old Testament preparation for the coming of the Messiah who will establish his kingdom on the earth. When the words form a prayer that Christ will come and “ransom captive Israel,” we ought to remember the long years of Babylonian captivity. Each verse of this carol features a different Old Testament name or title of the coming Messiah: “O come, O come, Emmanuel.” “O come, Thou Wisdom from on high.” “O come, Thou Rod of Jesse.” “O come, Thou Day-spring.” “O come, Thou Key of David.” “O come, Thou Lord of Might.” “O come, Desire of Nations.” This carol assumes a high level of biblical literacy. That fact might argue against singing it today because so many churchgoers don’t have any idea what “Day-spring” means or they think Jesse refers to a wrestler or maybe to a reality TV star. But that argument works both ways. We ought to sing this carol and we ought to use it as a teaching tool. Sing it—and explain it! We can see the Jewish roots of this carol in the refrain: Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. But Israel’s Messiah is also our Savior and Lord. What Israel was waiting for turns out to be the long-expected Jesus. So this carol rightly belongs to us as well. The first verse suggests the longing of the Jewish people waiting for Messiah to come: O come, O come, Emmanuel And ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appears The second verse pictures Christ redeeming us from hell and death: O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free Thine own from Satan’s tyranny From depths of Hell Thy people save And give them victory o’er the grave This verse reminds us only Christ can take us home to heaven: O come, Thou Key of David, come, And open wide our heavenly home; Make safe the way that leads on high, And close the path to misery. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. Let’s listen as Selah captures the Jewish flavor of this carol. Lord, we pray today for all those lost in the darkness of sin. We pray for those who feel there is no hope. May the light of Jesus shine in their hearts today. Amen.

I wanted to be alone.” “I see.” Except she didn’t, exactly. When had this child become a mystery to her own mother? “Why?” Sophie glanced at herself in the mirror, and Esther could only hope her daughter saw the truth: a lovely, poised woman—intelligent, caring, well dowered, and deserving of more than a stolen interlude with a convenient stranger and an inconvenient baby—Sophie’s brothers’ assurances notwithstanding. “I am lonely, that’s why.” Sophie’s posture relaxed with this pronouncement, but Esther’s consternation only increased. “How can you be lonely when you’re surrounded by loving family, for pity’s sake? Your father and I, your sisters, your brothers, even Uncle Tony and your cousins—we’re your family, Sophia.” She nodded, a sad smile playing around her lips that to Esther’s eyes made her daughter look positively beautiful. “You’re the family I was born with, and I love you too, but I’m still lonely, Your Grace. I’ve wished and wished for my own family, for children of my own, for a husband, not just a marital partner…” “You had many offers.” Esther spoke gently, because in Sophie’s words, in her calm, in her use of the present tense—“I am lonely”—there was an insight to be had. “Those offers weren’t from the right man.” “Was Baron Sindal the right man?” It was a chance arrow, but a woman who had raised ten children owned a store of maternal instinct. Sophie’s chin dropped, and she sighed. “I thought he was the right man, but it wasn’t the right offer, or perhaps it was, but I couldn’t hear it as such. And then there was the baby… It wouldn’t be the right marriage.” Esther took her courage in both hands and advanced on her daughter—her sensible daughter—and slipped an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Tell me about this baby. I’ve heard all manner of rumors about him, but you’ve said not one word.” She meant to walk Sophie over to the vanity, so she might drape Oma’s pearls around Sophie’s neck, but Sophie closed her eyes and stiffened. “He’s a good baby. He’s a wonderful baby, and I sent him away. Oh, Mama, I sent my baby away…” And then, for the first time in years, sensible Lady Sophia Windham cried on her mother’s shoulder as if she herself were once again a little, inconsolable baby. ***

they? They deserve it. It's Christmas. Their Christmas. The best

Won’t you be lonely?” the youngest one asked. With smiling eyes, the carpenter answered, “Don’t worry. I’m not alone. Does the moon feel lonely in a sky full of stars?

He brought the tray into the bedroom, then set it on the floor next to the bed. At Kellan’s perplexed expression, Vic jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Hold on, I have to grab one more thing.” Vic scurried to the living room then retrieved the item he wanted. As soon as Kellan’s gaze landed on the gift bag holding the stuffed wolf they’d bought at the market, he slapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes glittering, but happy. Vic sat on the bed and placed the bag next to the egg. “For our baby. I’ll always protect and love them as I protect and love you.” Vic leaned over and kissed the top of the shell peeking out from under the blankets. Kellan grabbed Vic’s hand, twining their fingers together. “I love you, Vic, my big bad wolf.” A lone tear slid down Kellan’s cheek, but his smile remained wide. “Merry Christmas.” Vic pressed a kiss to Kellan’s palm. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart

Extensive background in public accounting. I can also stand on my head!" Too many E-numbers. "I perform my job with effortless efficiency, effectiveness, efficacy, and expertise." There are not too many of them about. "Personal: Married 20 years; own a home, along with a friendly mortgage company." The first rule of projects is: You don't talk about projects. "My intensity and focus are at inordinately high levels, and my ability to complete projects on time is unspeakable." Learning a language. "Exposure to German for two years, but many words are inappropriate for business." Congratulations! "Accomplishments: Completed 11 years of high school."  No really, how is your memory? "Excellent memory; strong math aptitude; excellent memory; effective management skills; and very good at math." I think bricks would work better personally, but hey go for it. "Personal Goal: To hand-build a classic cottage from the ground up using my father-in-law. To be fair the job on offer was to play Snow White in a Christmas production. "Thank you for your consideration. Hope to hear from you shorty!" . Very I would say. "Enclosed is a ruff draft of my resume." Delete. "I saw your ad on the information highway, and I came to a screeching halt." Then why attach it? "Please disregard the attached resume -- it is terribly out of date." Lone wolf. "It's best for employers that I not work with people.

Christmas was almost upon us. The streets were brightly decorated, and the lonely grew lonelier.

all the Christmas feels. Maybe you are lonely and discouraged. Perhaps you’ve been rejected. But know this: if you are in Christ, God leveraged the entire universe to shout to you His message of love and drew you to Himself.

Unpleasant, haunting memories have a way of coming to life again just when the mind least desires them—in the silent watches of the night, on sleepless pillows, during the lonely hours spent by sick and dying beds.

As if someone kicked me, I doubled over and sank to the floor. It felt as if someone was slicing me open, from the base of my throat to my pubic bone, and I curled like a fetus in the middle of the plain white tile floor. I wanted the old life back. I didn’t want to be forty-something, trying to date and figure out where I fit in, starting over with new friends in a new life. I was lonely. I felt lost and frightened. It wasn’t an adventure, or at least not the sort I wanted, or had ever desired. I didn’t want hand-me-downs and insecurity or a new lover. I’d loved the old life! A lot. I loved being a mom, even a despised soccer mom. I liked bake sales and going to lunch in the middle of the week. I liked consulting with my friends about what to wear for a school function, or to a neighborhood Christmas party. The tears that had started in Niraj’s gentle arms spilled out of me. I lay there and sobbed, hard, for a long time. It wasn’t that I wanted to. I just couldn’t do anything else. I laid on the cool kitchen floor, and sobbed in purest, deepest, wildest grief. I had loved my husband and my marriage and being a mother, and absolutely hated that I’d lost it all.

Ma’am,” he said solemnly to Miz Demetrice, “you shine as luminously as the lone star that warms our daily hearths and brightens our heavenly bodies.

supposed to be a time for fun and laughter and creating lasting memories with family and friends. After that comes peace and harmony, love and understanding and all of that other nonsense.

reminisce

in

You seem awfully concerned about this guy,” Jeoff stated. “More than a disobedient lone wolf merits. Has he hurt someone in the pride?” “In a sense. He threatens my mate.” That was one way to stun an opponent. “You? Mated? You have my condolences.” Arik frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It’s always sad when a man gets shackled to a ball and chain. Next thing you know, you’ll be taking ballroom fucking dancing, calling everything ‘ours’, losing your closet to shoes, and having to watch romantic comedies instead of going to the bar with the boys.” “I’ll also be having incredible sex multiple times a day.” “You could have had that without having her shackle you.” “I’m the one who claimed her.” “Why? Why would you do that?” Jeoff shook his head. “Don’t come crying to me when she makes you wear an ugly sweater at Christmas.” “I won’t cry because I’ll make sure you and I have matching ones, given to you publicly, so you can’t refuse. I’ll have Hayder take a picture, and I’ll post it on every social media site I find.” “You’re an evil king, Arik.” “Thank you.” He couldn’t help a smug smile.

Why should I even care? I just met this guy and I’m offering him a chance to have a nice Christmas instead of a boring, lonely one surrounded by Amish peeking in his windows looking for porn. I have nothing to feel guilty about, right?

Thanksgiving Day can be a good or bad day, it all depends if there's anyone here at the house. If the family gets invited to head over to pig out at one of the relatives, then I'm screwed. No gourmet meal with the trimmings for me, just the same old drab dog food. But when they stay here and fire up a feast there's plenty to chow down on. I sleep enough as it is, but wow, that tryptophan in the turkey knocks me out even twice as long. The more I think about it, I'm done after dinner until Black Friday morning. So how can I be a dog and smart enough to know about something like Black Friday? It all comes down to one thing - cable TV, the Wikipedia of dog smarts. Ask me anything about news, sports, fashion, weather, celebrity gossip, World War II history. Oh, I can't leave out food.

Wait a minute, look at them. Smiling and laughing. Just having a wonderful time, enjoying themselves to the fullest. Why shouldn't they? They deserve it. It's Christmas. Their Christmas. The best day I ever had was the day Karla found me and brought me here, to my home. Ryan, Kaley, Matt and yes, even Derek, are my family too. I'm treated so well I've lost perspective. Well, what do you expect, I am a dog after all. They always find the time to take me for walks, play with me in the yard, bring me to the vet, get me in out of the heat and cold, cuddle up with me before bedtime and even celebrate my birthday. Today is for them and not for me. The least I can do is to let them enjoy it without me getting in the way. But if this continues tomorrow there'll be hell to pay! Who am I kidding, it'll never happen.

ass.

Sophie, I want to kiss you.” He’d meant to state it as a problem, a small, troubling matter she needed to take into consideration when she stood so close. It came out sounding like a prayer, like the most fervent wish hoarded up in a tired, lonely heart that had long since lost the courage to wish. She set aside the towel in her hand while Vim watched her mouth in anticipation of a gentle, even kind, rebuke. And then the baby let loose with a loud, indignant squall. ***

The Song of the Camp By J.R.M. Far away in the piny woods, Where the dews fall heavy and damp, A soldier sat by the smoldering fire, And sang the song of the camp. It is not to be weary and worn, It is not to feel hunger and thirst, It is not the forced march, not the terrible fight, That seems to the solider the worst; But to sit through the comfortless hours, The lonely, dull hours that will come, With his head in his hands, and his eyes on the fire, And his thoughts on visions of home;

Elijah was at Morelands because he could not get out of his mind that sketch Genevieve had done of him when he’d been trying to write to his sister. The rendering had been accurate, but it had been another image of a lonely man—also a man bewildered by a simple bit of correspondence to a younger sibling. And in some dim corner of his brain, Elijah perceived that the answer to his loneliness lay in Genevieve Windham’s hands—or at least the temporary relief of it. “I’ll

Northern Virginia with bright and warm

plate of cookies too." Will is bellowing from the living room. His butt has been welded to that chair for hours. I don't think he realizes that Karla is right next to the knife block. If he keeps this obnoxious behavior up she might be serving his head on a plate along with the turkey. I have to say, even with a house full of deadbeats, except for Karla, there really is a nice cozy, quaint and festive atmosphere in the house this afternoon. It's sunny outside and kind of chilly. It can snow here in Virginia right before or after Christmas Day, but very rarely on the 25th. We've got a tree with twinkling colorful lights while a glowing fireplace warms the room and laughter fills the air. As for the adorable English bulldog, I'm still steamed that I'm merely an afterthought, if even that. Give it a few hours and I'll give them a Christmas to remember.

on cable. "Could it be? Yes, it is! Broccoli kicks the bucket. A Christmas miracle. God bless us, every one." He's on his knees with his hands folded in prayer, looking up at the ceiling. "Alright wise guy, help your sister out and clean it up." Ryan is not as amused. It gets dark early this time of year. By five o'clock it's pitch black and the lights are on outside while the curtains inside the house are drawn shut. When I was much younger last year, I would try playing out in the backyard after the sun went down and I kept running head first into the wooden fence. If I remember right, it probably took about ten collisions

freezer and put them on the counter." "Mom! How many vegetables are there? This freezer is jammed with stuff." "Eight. There are also six desserts I'll need you to get ready later on." "Have you lost your mind! Why so many?" "I sent out questionnaires this year and for once everyone responded in a timely fashion." "Hey Karla, how about another round of beers in here? We're getting thirsty. And another plate of cookies too." Will is bellowing from the living room. His butt has been welded to that chair for hours. I don't think he realizes that Karla is right next to the knife block. If he keeps this obnoxious behavior up she might be serving his head on a plate along with the turkey. I have to say, even with a house full of deadbeats, except for Karla, there really is a nice cozy, quaint and festive atmosphere in the house this afternoon. It's sunny outside and kind of chilly. It can snow here in Virginia right before or after Christmas Day, but very rarely on the 25th. We've got a tree with twinkling colorful lights while a glowing fireplace warms the room and laughter fills the air. As for the adorable English bulldog, I'm still steamed that I'm merely an afterthought, if even that. Give it a few hours and I'll

f you're living in a place that's just not big enough for that huge Christmas tree you'd love to have, get branches of evergreen, balsam, or juniper and use them to outline mirrors, arrange on mantels or windowsills, or decorate tabletops and bookshelves. Add gold or silver balls or showcase your holiday collectibles among the branches, such as snow villages, angels, and Christmas teacups. And don't forget to use plenty of unlit candles in seasonal colors. If you do light them, make sure the branches are arranged so they're not a fire hazard. Add a nativity scene to set the significant tone of the season. Make your home warm and welcoming, overflowing with love and good cheer. hose food shows on TV don't have anything on me! Cooking with your friends-inviting them to sit with you while you prepare a fantastic meal is something I've been doing for years. More often, though, I'll put my friends to work. We all have fun pitching in. I've had some of my best conversations while I was stirring a pot of soup and someone else was tossing a salad. I've also had some of my closest times with my husband in that warm, creative room in our house. Good talk seems to happen naturally in the kitchen. And teamwork is great fun! No one is lonely; no one feels left out. Creativity flourishes as you work together.

from England

Hey Grandpa, thanks for the present." Derek has his usual clueless expression as he holds up a paperback dictionary. "You're welcome. Your Mom says you can't spell for shit so maybe it'll help." Dan speaks with an eloquence reminiscent of Churchill at his best.

relatives, then I'm screwed. No gourmet meal with the trimmings for me, just the same old drab dog food. But when they stay here and fire up a feast there's plenty

They rode up a trail until the trees parted and they got their first good view of Lone Peak across the valley and river. This late morning it was breathtaking. The stark peak gleamed against the deep blue of the big sky. No wonder this area had been named Big Sky.

New

Am I doing it right?” he asks as he speeds up his movements. I hear the nervousness in his voice. My hands slide up his back. “If you were doing it any more right I don't think I could handle it,” I respond softly, meaning it. “You're perfect.” He shakes his head a little. “You're so quiet,” he says. My hands go back to his hips as he continues to move over me. “I'm thinking about how good it is, how good we are.

Let me speak at last,” she said. “For myself personally, I can’t conceive of love without family life. I am lonely, lonely as the moon in the sky, and a waning moon, too, and whatever you may say, I am convinced, I feel that this waning can only be restored by love in its ordinary sense. It seems to me that such love would define my duties, my work, make clear my conception of life. I want from love peace in soul, tranquility; I want the very opposite of musk, and spiritualism, and fin de siècle … in short”—she grew embarrassed—”a husband and children.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Feliz Navidad. It's been a long day. I think I'm going to go lie down now and take a nap. And To All a Good Night!!!

I took my time driving back to the warehouse to drop off the van. It would be the loneliest ten blocks I’d ever walked once I did, because I’d met Nancy. It is one thing to be lonely and ache for someone to care for, someone to love in the abstract. It is quite another to know who that someone is and discover she is just out of reach. No love is as far away as one just beyond reach. I drove with an aching heart through the city as it sprung to life only hours before Christmas.

People who have met both my father and me say that I am just like him. We share this explosive passive-aggressive dance, a sort of social bulimia, in which we simultaneously try to connect with someone (because we’re lonely) and at the same time send the message that this person is UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO US WHATSOEVER. As I wave to you, I’m backing up. When I hand you a Christmas gift, I shout, “Feel free to regift or sell!” I sit down to talk with you at a party and either monologue my current act for forty-five minutes or s-l-o-w-l-y inch my way farther and farther away while lobbing a barrage of questions over an impenetrable wall of anxiety.

In a lonely place, he stopped, struck by the sight of a long stretch of freshly fallen snow. Unscathed by animal tracks, footprints, or wheel ruts. Untouched by man. Pure white, unblemished, unspoilt, beautiful - perfectly capturing and reflecting the sunlight. What would it be like to be that new, that perfect, that pure, he wondered, when he himself felt sullied - a dark, muddy mess. And what was it about seeing such a sight that made a man want to step foot across it, to claim the virgin territory for himself and make his mark? And too often, end up ruining it? Richard shook his head. Not this time. Not him, not anymore

Today, my dear brothers and sisters,” the pastor continued, “we are confronted by darkness—the darkness of war, of tyranny, of oppression, of loneliness, of evil manifest in the world. Today, with the entire world at war, this darkness seems very deep indeed, but we must not forget that Jesus Christ brought the light of peace, and hope, and reconciliation into the world, and no darkness shall ever quench it. Each of us must bring light into the world, so that the darkness will not prevail.” Head bowed, Sylvia pressed her lips together to hold back a sob. She wanted the light the pastor described to shine through the darkness of her life, but she was afraid, and she had never felt more alone. The darkness surrounding her was so opaque she feared no illumination could penetrate it. Suddenly a hand clasped hers—Claudia’s. After a moment Sylvia reached out her other hand to Agnes, and only then did understanding dawn. Claudia and Agnes were lonely and afraid too. They had to be light for one another. The three women held hands for the rest of the sermon. They held hands still as they rose to sing the final hymn. As the last notes of the song faded away, Sylvia felt peace settling into her heart, and she whispered a prayer of thanks for her sister and her sister-in-law, whom she too often took for granted. They must sustain one another, whatever came, whatever darkness threatened them.

I’m really lonely and I know you are in prison but if you could get maybe a Christmas break or something, could you come visit me?

So walk across the street, or drive across town, or fly across the country, but don’t let really intimate loving friendships become the last item on a long to-do list. Good friendships are like breakfast. You think you’re too busy to eat breakfast, but then you find yourself exhausted and cranky halfway through the day, and discover that your attempt to save time totally backfired. In the same way, you can try to go it alone because you don’t have time or because your house is too messy to have people over, or because making new friends is like the very worst parts of dating. But halfway through a hard day or a hard week, you’ll realize in a flash that you’re breathtakingly lonely, and that the Christmas cards aren’t much company. Get up, make a phone call, buy a cheap ticket, open your front door. Because there really is nothing like good friends, like the sounds of their laughter and the tones of their voices and the things they teach us in the quietest, smallest moments.

spent my first Christmas in the city alone. Alone, but not lonely; in the state of being solitary but not the condition of wishing myself otherwise. Solitude enrobed me like a long, warm coat.

Aunt Carlotta is a lonely woman. She’s a lot older than me. She’s really an old lady now. She’s forty-two. Hardly anyone lives to be forty-two.

Being with someone who didn’t want to be with me, working at a job where I never felt like I belonged. Those things made me lonely. I cut myself off from a lot of people for a long time because I was miserable. But maybe loneliness isn’t always a bad thing, perhaps it’s more of a reminder.

Some cheer to those who are more lonely. Grant me the joy to do a kindness to one of Thy little ones: Light my Christmas candle at the gladness of an innocent and grateful heart.

As she stepped through the front door onto the verandah, a warm breeze brushed her face and she felt a heavy wave of deep familiarity: the smell of eucalyptus and sunbaked dirt, the light so bright it put creases around her eyes just to look at it. The slender blue gums on the ridge, ancient and watchful. This was the landscape of her childhood and she would never be able to escape its influence. But just as Daniel Miller had brought her to Halcyon, the books that she'd read as a child, lying beneath the ferns at Darling House, had taken her to lands where trees with names like oak and chestnut and elm grew in great, ancient forests, and the soil was moist and the sun was gentle, where there were magical words like "hedgerow" and "conker," and snow kissed the glass of windows in winter, and children went sledding at Christmas and ate "pudding" and "blancmange." And so, she had come to know another landscape, not just intellectually, but viscerally: a landscape of the imagination as real to her as the geographical landscape in which she moved. When she first arrived in England as a twenty-year-old graduate, she had stepped off the plane and known it already. Standing here now, looking across the valley toward the facing hill, Jess could imagine how homesick Isabel must have felt at times. She herself had been thinking about "home" a lot. Home, she'd realized, wasn't a place or a time or a person, though it could be any and all of those things: home was a feeling, a sense of being complete. The opposite of "home" wasn't "away", it was "lonely." When someone said, "I want to go home," what they really meant was that they didn't want to feel lonely anymore.

Nokia and our team worked day and night; sites were selected, even churches, masts were built, and equipment was installed. We were heading for launch. Dead tired but things moved forward. Richard’s wife was screaming and shouting on the phone, where the f… he was, she would divorce him. It was early evening after our Christmas party, the offices deserted. Very cold outside, big snowflakes falling. Richard and I were looking out of the big 6th floor windows of our new office in Pest. Silently we stood together. We had grown close that year. He said sadly, ‘You see those people there Ineke? They have a life and we will improve it when they get cheap mobile phones. And we?’ I said nothing, I just watched people pass by and felt like him; lone wolves we had become.

I can tell you this, that if I’d married some rosy dame and she had given me ten children and they each had given me ten grandchildren, I’d leave them all, on Christmas Eve, on the coldest night of the world, and walk a thousand miles just for the sight of your face, your mother’s face. And if I never found you, my comfort would be in that hope, my lonely and singular hope, which could not exist in the whole of Creation except in my heart and in the heart of the Lord

Sometimes we must take the most important journey’s in isolation; alone except for the experience itself.

Shiny first. Pastries later.

The next year, when Evan told his ma he wanted to tame a wild horse, she said he wasn't ready. But Cully thought differently. "The boy's going to be running your spread soon enough, ma'am. I think he can break that filly if he has a mind to do it." Evan smiled when he recalled that day. The horse had thrown him four times. He was scraped and sore, but Cully wouldn't let him give up, not even when the horse bucked him over the corral fence. The cowboy laughed until tears streamed down his face. "I didn't know anything without wings could fly that far!" he exclaimed.

In the long winter evenings Evan and Della sat by the hearth and listened to the cowboy's tales of his life on the trail. "After a long, hot ride we finally camped at Red River. Cookie had our beans boiling in the pot, when an ornery steer got stuck in a mud hole. No one wanted to get him out, so they volunteered me for the job. I lassoed him and my horse gave him a good pull. Now you'd think that longhorn would have been grateful, but when I set him loose, he chased me around camp like I was a Spanish matador. He finally stopped when a pretty heifer called him over for a kiss." "Maybe that bull was just trying to say thank you," Evan said. "If you had stayed put he might have kissed you instead!" And the cowboy laughed.

The boy came to know all of Cully's friends through the stories he told. He longed to meet each one, and he always asked about them. "What about Lucky Lefty? Was he with you this season?" "Yep," Cully said. "And he's luckier than ever. One stormy day we were pushing the herd over Barker's Pass. Lucky and I were riding together, and to while away the time, he was telling the story of Noah and his animal ark. He was just to the part about the forty days and forty nights when, out of nowhere, prairie lightning flashed down from a cloud and struck him right on his chest." "Was he hurt bad?" Evan asked. "It knocked him straight off the back of his horse, but he lived. He's got a long scar to show where the lightning hit him...on his left side of course." "Maybe the Lord didn't like the way Lucky was telling the story," Della said with a smile. "I'll warn him about that, ma'am," the cowboy said, smiling back.

You know there’s something seriously wrong with your life when the high point of your Christmas Day is worming a cat, but, as Mr Bryant likes to remind me, anyone seeking dignity will find it in the dictionary just after ‘death,’ so let’s move on.

Back in the car, Bridget noticed that Jake seemed unusually quiet. He’d hardly said a word during the interview with Julia Carstairs, and it was perhaps unsurprising, given the way that she’d embarrassed him. ‘What is it with these older women?’ he said at last. ‘I wish they’d act their age. I can’t understand why they’re all so desperate.’ ‘I think you’ll find that they’re lonely,’ she said. ‘It must be hard to reach a point where the best of your life seems to be behind you, and you find yourself alone, especially at Christmas.

We can get all of the gift giving

But then I think that it would be senseless if we stopped caring, stopped helping, stopped noticing that tiny fleck of sadness in a patient’s eyes on a lonely Christmas Eve.  Everyone in this industry matters.  One smile, one ‘have a better day,’ one ‘here, let me help you with that,’ can save someone from losing him/herself in the senselessness of the rest of the world.

I spent my first Christmas in the city alone. Alone, but not lonely; in the state of being solitary but not the condition of wishing myself otherwise. Solitude enrobed me like a long, warm coat.