Living alone in the woods has driven me batty. So batty, in fact, that I just ordered a copy of Sein und Zeit. For all I have now is my own being and time. I might as well read up on what the fuck that means, if anything.
Solitary confinement makes for really bad philosophy. If Descartes had partied more, maybe, just maybe we would have been spared the lonely individualism that has since become the hallmark of Modernity. Maybe.