Quotes About Individuality

My ears are too beeg for my head. My head ees too beeg for my body. I am not a Siamese cat ... I AM A CHIHUAHUA! -- Skippyjon Jones (In his very best Spanish accent)

I ask to be made beautiful like the trees are beautiful, each growing according to a unique plan. Lop off a limb and and the tree will accommodate it's loss, still growing and still beautiful. It is my hope to be able to flourish in a similar fashion, taking on the shape and dimensions that is intended for me.

To be an artist is to recognize the particular. To appreciate the peculiar. To allow a sense of play in your relationship to accepted standards. To ask the question "Why?" To be an artist is to risk admitting that much of what is money, property, and prestige strikes you as just a little silly.

as we are creative beings, our lives become our work of art.

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening, that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. MARTHA GRAHAM

No individual belongs to "just" one socially constructed category: each has his or her multiple racial, gender, class-based, national identities, and that's just a start of the list. Nor are these categories uniform or stable; we are Whitmanesque, we contain multitudes.

Breasts and bosoms I have known Of varied shapes and sizes From poignant disappointments To jubilant surprises.

All the rappers my age are getting Audemars and Rolexes. I want to find my own thing. That's why I travel the world - for me, that's my B-side, why we go places. I have a Hublot on from time to time but I want a home base watch - something that's elegant but has got a little pizzazz to it.

Get rid of the idea that God wants you to sacrifice yourself for others, and that you can secure his favor by doing so; God requires nothing of the kind. What he wants is that you should make the most of yourself, for yourself, and for others; and you can help others more by making the most of yourself than in any other way.

We are strange creatures, and writers are stranger creatures than most.

He has a way of walking through conventions of that kind as if they did not exist, and being so much himself that pretty soon people begin adapting themselves to him.

He still wore, in the warming barracks, a muskrat cap with earlaps. Under it his eyes were gray as agates, as sudden as an elbow in the solar plexus.

There is something about all beards that is like the gesture of thumbing the nose. Thank you very much. Up yours.

After all, we had been programmed in the same system, stuffed like Strasbourg geese with the best that has been known and said in the world during man's long struggle upward from spontaneity to cliché.

I don't care how they speculate, or what their answers are. We live as we can, we do what we must, and not everything goes by either Freudian or Victorian patterns. What I am sure of is that friendship—not love, friendship—is as possible between women as between men, and that in either case it is often stronger for not having to cross sexual picket lines. Sexuality and mistrust often go together, and both are incompatible with amicitia.

The essential thing in form is to be free in whatever form is used. A free form does not assure freedom. As a form, it is just one more form. So that it comes to this, I suppose, that I believe in freedom regardless of form.

I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.

There is a perfect rout of characters in every man—and every man is like an actor's trunk, full of strange creatures, new & old. But an actor and his trunk are two different things

Bantams in Pine-Woods" Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail. Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal. Your world is you. I am my world. You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat! Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines, Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs, And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.

I am and have a being and play a part.

Not less because in purple I descended The western day, through what you called The loneliest air, not less was I myself

I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw Or heard or felt came not but from myself; And there I found myself more truly and more strange.

I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.

I cannot bear to associate with the ordinary run of people. I have to surround myself with individuals who for the most part are more than a trifle insane