“The study was slowly lit up as the candle was brought in. The familiar details came out: the stag's horns, the bookshelves, the looking-glass, the stove with its ventilator, which had long wanted mending, his father's sofa, a large table, on the table an open book, a broken ash-tray, a manuscript-book with his handwriting. As he saw all this, there came over him for an instant a doubt of the possibility of arranging this new life, of which he had been dreaming on the road. All these traces of his life seemed to clutch him, and to say to him: 'No, you're not going to get away from us, and you're not going to be different, but you're going to be the same as you've always been; with doubts, everlasting dissatisfaction with yourself, vain efforts to amend, and falls, and everlasting expectations, of a happiness which you won't get, and which isn't possible for you.” - Konstantin Levin, from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. I can't even find what I am looking for on a forum full of people that are probably as lonely, or even lonelier, than I am. I realise that happiness does not come from an external source, that you have to find it within yourself, so I am just pinning what is left of my hopes on something futile. Perhaps I should stop looking, again, and allow the remains of my personality to dissipate within the miasma of my loneliness. Most of the time it feels as if I died long ago and I just spend my time burying the corpse, piece by piece.