Solitude (n.) is holy: in the human swarm no one is guilty who is innocent, but whoever disturbs the quiet of solitude is guilty, and no excuse helps — any more than explanations help offended modesty.
Solitude (n.) becomes audible: Zerlina in Don Juan is not alone, she becomes alone, as the chorus dies away in the distance.
Solitude (n.) is easy to lose in the capital, where one gets rid of oneself every instant, surrounded by conductors; in Christianshavn one cannot get rid of oneself, surrounded on all sides by nonconductors.
Solitude (n.) is where the man weary of noisy company goes — only to learn again to hunger for companionship.
Solitude (n.) is where God is discovered: if you have never been solitary, you have never discovered that God exists — but who believes in Echo, living day and night in the tumult of the city?
Solitude (n.) makes misfortune easier to bear only because a man alone can more easily cast himself away, forget God, and live among men as a specter.
Solitude (n.) under one's own supervision is stricter than a cloister: alone in the world, such a man lives more secluded than a maiden in her bower.
Solitude (n.) lets conscience explore every secret thought and lure forth the obscure libido in every life; in society one forgets, is let off easily, gets to start afresh.
Solitude (n.) brings a responsibility the tragic hero never knows: fighting the whole world is a comfort; fighting oneself is dreadful.
Solitude (n.) is no safer than the crowd, and the most mediocre thing is to wear oneself out weighing which is harder, neither in the one nor the other but in busy absent-mindedness.
Solitude (n.) is every man's lot in the interminable world; in fair weather we seem to live together, but one piece of bad news can reveal how alone each is.
Solitude (n.) guarded absolutely can hide in plain sight: live on the street with Tom, Dick and Harry, seen every hour.