Do you have any quotes regarding unattractiveness, undesirablilty and loneliness?
'Alone' by Edgar Allan Poe
"my lonely life around me like a moor,"
— Anne Carson, from 'The Glass Essay'
‘Hateful day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred.’
"I saw no cause for their unhappiness; but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched."
— Mary Shelley, from 'Frankenstein'
"—it is a little thing to say how lone it is—anyone can do it, but to wear the loneness next to your heart for weeks, when you sleep, and when you wake, ever missing something, this, all cannot say, and it baffles me."
— Emily Dickinson, from 'Selected Letters'; to Susan Gilbert (Dickinson)
"this skin is sick with loneliness."
— Lucille Clifton, Splendor; from 'leda 3'
"... I let the awful clothes affect even my posture, walked around with my back bowed, my shoulders drooping, my hands and arms at awkward angles, was afraid of mirrors because they showed in me an ugliness which in my opinion was inevitable..."
— Franz Kafka, from 'The Diaries: 1910-1923', tr. Joseph Kresh & Martin Greenberg
"There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up; holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship's, smooths and contains the rocker. It's an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is a loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's own feet going seem to come from a far-off place."
— Toni Morrison, from 'Beloved'
"He is so lonely that he sometimes feels it physically, a sodden clump of dirty laundry pressing against his chest. He cannot unlearn the feeling."
"Until that point, he had never thought too specifically about his appearance. He knew he was ugly. He knew he was ruined. He knew he was diseased. But he had never considered himself grotesque. But now he was. There seemed to be an inevitability to this, to his life: that every year he would become worse—more disgusting, more depraved. Every year, his right to humanness diminished; every year, he became less and less of a person. But he didn’t care any longer; he couldn’t allow himself to.
"I worry sometimes that you’ve decided to convince yourself that you’re somehow unattractive or unlovable, and that you’ve decided that certain experiences are off-limits for you. But they’re not..."
— Hanya Yanagihara, from 'A Little Life'
"I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get."
— Charles Bukowski, from 'Ham on Rye'
"My shadow said to me: / What is the matter / Isn't the moon warm / enough for you / Why do you need / the blanket of another body [...] Aren't there enough words / flowing in your veins / to keep you going"
— Margaret Atwood, The Animals in That Country; from 'The Shadow Voice'
"It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it. I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not mine. I cannot even decide whether it is handsome or ugly. I think it is ugly because I have been told so. But it doesn't strike me. At heart, I am even shocked that anyone can attribute qualities of this kind to it, as if you called a clod of earth or a block of stone beautiful or ugly."
— Jean-Paul Sartre, from 'Nausea', tr. Richard Howard
"On the couch, the cat crawls on top of me / and loves me so hard, his claws draw blood. / I am so lonely, I do nothing to stop it."
— Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, from 'Things That Happened During Petsitting That I Remind Myself Are Not Metaphors for My Heart'
"How can you love me? Look, my gums are diseased. Every tooth in my mouth is false. All the hair has been burnt off my head. My eyes are as red as a syphilitic's. My face is nothing but jagged bone. I am ugly. The ugliest of men! My nerves are shattered, my body gone sterile, my insides poisoned from tip to toe. How can you love such a wreck of a man?” […] “You are not ugly, Vincent. You are beautiful. You have tormented and tortured this poor body in which your soul is wrapped, but you cannot injure your soul. It is that I love. And when you have destroyed yourself by your passionate labours, that soul will go on... endlessly. And with it, my love for you.”
— Irving Stone, from 'Lust for Life'
"...beauty is the simple thing, ugliness is the extraordinary thing, and all ardent imaginations doubtless prefer the extraordinary thing in lubricity to the simple thing. Beauty, freshness only strike one in a simple way; ugliness, degradation deliver a much firmer blow - the shock is far stronger, the excitation must therefore be more intense."
— The Marquis de Sade, from 'The 120 Days of Sodom or The School of Libertinage', tr. Will McMorran & Thomas Wynn