Modeling is a lonely business.
Writing is a lonely business.
Touring is really a pretty lonely business.
It's a dismally lonely business, writing.
I'm not gonna lie...sometimes this whole writing thing is a lonely business.
Modeling is a lonely business... You don't speak. You don't really portray anything but an image... the business is so superfluous about dealing with the outside, it messes with your mind.
The road had the lonely times, but I kept myself busy.
[the lone obstacle to the sought-after gold is a solitary tank guarding the bank] Crapgame: Then make a DEAL! Big Joe: What kind of deal? Crapgame: A DEAL, deal! Maybe the guy's a Republican. "Business is business," right?
Writing a book is a very lonely business. You are totally cut off from the rest of the world, submerged in your obsessions and memories.
Be kind to humanity, she is very lonely, everyone is busy with themselves.
Writing a novel is an intense and lonely business, but you have the reward at the end of a very direct dialogue between you and the reader.
I am lonely, I am lonely, I am lonely, I am lonely, I am lonely. How appropriate that I write this to myself.
On the other hand, I mean, that is what writers have always been supposed to do, was to rely on their own devices and to - I mean, writing is a lonely business.
Living the past is a dull and lonely business; looking back strains the neck muscles, causing you to bump into people not going your way.
My intention had not been to find her, for I had been busy being lonely with someone else.
Writers Are Insane. For months we are lone wolves locked in our caves. Then overnight we become publicity hounds. It's a schizophrenic business.
Writing can be a very solitary business. It's you sat at a desk typing words into a computer. It can get lonely sometimes and lots of writers live quite isolated lives.
Writing is a lonely business, which if allowed publicity and socializing it might deteriorate. Supportive people understand the need of a writer to withdraw to the solitude of oneself.
It made me sad when I caught myself pretending that everybody out there in cyberspace cared about what I thought, when really nobody gives a shit. And when I multiplied that sad feeling by all the millions of people in their lonely little rooms, furi...
Lonely trees are not lonely; they have their eternal companies: Songs of the birds; shadows of the clouds; lights of the Moon; whispers of the winds… Lonely trees are not lonely!
And the bell jangled, the driver started. The bus whirled off, to the last stop, the lonely room, the lonely night.
