inglés example sentences with "emptiness"

An emptiness devours my heart.
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Life is all about filling up the emptiness inside. Work, alcohol, music, we all have our substitutes for love.
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There is some comfort in the emptiness of the sea, no past, no future.
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Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.
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Form is emptiness; emptiness is form.
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Sami had that emptiness inside him.
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Staring into the emptiness...
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Sami tried to fill that emptiness with alcohol.
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In my brain reigns a yawning emptiness.
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After the death of his wife, he couldn't endure the emptiness and he followed her into the dark.
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Robert Louis Stevenson warns us that "to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive," beautifully portraying the emptiness and illusory character of achievement.
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One sometimes looks around and sees only emptiness.
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We sometimes look around and see nothing but emptiness.
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I feel an overbearing emptiness inside of me.
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The fridge was a yawning chasm of emptiness: inside were only three bottles of beer.
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The usefulness of a pot is in its emptiness.
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Maria's gaze slid into emptiness.
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Inside a hut that echoed with emptiness at Masizini, a village in the interior of South Africa’s Wild Coast region, a woman in a pink uniform, its shoulders adorned with purple padding into which silver and blue medals were pinned, folded her ample arms, sighed and laughed.
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And in my bosom, there is a deep emptiness, because you are gone and nobody loves me anymore.
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And deep in my heart, there is only emptiness, because you are gone and nobody cares for me anymore.
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The Sahara is known for its majestic emptiness.
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William suffered from emptiness.
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Your love has filled the void in my soul, and without it, I feel an emptiness that words cannot express.
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The emptiness inside me is overwhelming.
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Though my heart must henceforth enclose a red flame vainly striving to devour emptiness, still I must go back to that Paradise which will nevermore be Paradise to me.
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I search for meaning in this emptiness, hoping for a sign to help.
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Holidays remind me of the emptiness I feel.
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I wonder if you feel the same emptiness.
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After 10 o'clock in the morning, I headed walking to Starbucks café, after I discovered that Tim Hortons café was jam-packed. It's Saturday today, so it's unusual. At Starbucks, I enjoyed a Grande Summer-Berry Lemonade Refresher. It was festively blue and red in colour with raspberry, blueberry, and blackberry flavours embedded with raspberry-flavoured pearls. There were this morning 5 baristas active: 3 Filipinos, 1 Vietnamese, and 1 Mandarin Chinese. I like it at Starbucks, too, due to the dimmer cavern-like ambiance. At the Clam Temple, I like the wide, vast emptiness in the worship salon. At Tim Hortons, I like the sun rays beaming from the bay windows. After Starbucks, I walked to the nearby Kin's Farm Market to buy a bag of 10 Mexican guavas, which were already yellow. I want to take pictures of them sliced and accompanying my tofu fish cuttlefish corn potato tangerine pork rolls from 852 Kitchen food boutique. I might wait until it's sunny on the verandah to photograph there. It's a cloudy day, this 14th of June of 2025.

It's Lulu Island, 3 August 2025. After supper—green figs tender with sunlight, sweet vinegar from yesterday’s pickled jar, and reheated Alfredo—I sat on the balcony and watched the conifer. Stillness below, a street without cars, without haste. My lime water, iced, caught the light. Michael, the Franco-Danish ufologist, has been in my conversations lately. We speak of inner things: the trance of smart devices, the mind’s eye dwindling. He says cafés aren’t cafés anymore. People forget how to look, how to linger. I tell him of Arthur in Japan—how he'd stare into blank walls like a monk gazing at emptiness. Lately I ask machines to speak like poets, and they do. They mimic Elizabethan verses and the old wistful lilt of Tagalog ballads. I pick blackberries along the path to Tim Hortons. "¡Moras!" I shout like a child. My friend Mora, whose blood flows with Andes mist, would smile. Today, I bought lemons. I meant limes, but lemons are all right. / blackberry morning— / a fig's ghost on my fingers / and the street still sleeps

When you're away, I feel an emptiness that nothing else can fill entirely.