Quotes About Individuality

The best way to be the kind of girl you want to be is to do what that girl would do.

Are you the only human in the world then? And all of the rest of us monsters?

She's got a man's nightshirt on and stockings with holes in them. Somebody else's tie, a gold and green chevroned number, hangs around her neck and just at this moment it looks like a king's mantle draped over her shoulders. Her hair's all loose, her lipstick and eyeliner gone a-roving. She's got a cigar in one hand and a jar full of gin in the other, and she's laughing, laughing like for once that damned chicken crossed the road for something really good.

I used to look up at night and dream of the solar system. I know, I know—who didn't? But your own dreams seem so special, so terribly yours, until you grow up and figure out they're just like everyone else's. How perfect and beautiful and silent and dead each planet hung in my heart! All nine names, written in squiggly, shaky handwriting, glowing inside me.

Have I ever done anything of my own, an act or state that arose from Elefsis, and not careful, exquisite mimicry? Have they?

I do not want to be human. I want to be myself. They think I am a lion, that I will chase them. I will not deny I have lions in me. I am the monster in the wood. I have wonders in my house of sugar. I have parts of myself I do not yet understand. I am not a Good Robot. To tell a story about a robot who wants to be human is a distraction. There is no difference. Alive is alive. There is only one verb that matters: to be.

Never give up your voice for a man, you fucking guppy.

I've always had enough, even if my enough and your enough are as different as an elephant and a minaret.

I can't even say her name. She doesn't even have a name. She is she . She is her . She possesses the pronoun so completely that no one else can touch it. There is only one her in the great stinking gas giant of my heart, fifty feet high. She is a giantess. I am no one. Well, not "no one". I am Anchises St. John. But I am no one's him .

A Fairy must make her own way in the world, for the world will never make way for her. That, incidentally, is the First Theorem of Questing Physicks, which

Where once September seemed merely and quietly odd, staring out the window during Mathematics lectures and reading big colorful books under her desk during Civics, now the other children sensed something wild and foreign about her.

No matter how mad, bad, and dangerous to know a civilization gets, unto every generation are born the lonely and the uncool, destined to forever stare into the candy-store window of their culture, and loneliness is the mother of ascension.

She passed a hand over her eyes. A year and more now, that she had needed glasses. 'Look', those glasses said from her desk. 'Look how much you are not like the others. You grow older and your eyes wear out. In case you could ever mistake yourself for belonging'. Marya supposed this was why no one asked after stolen fairy tale girls. What embarassment they turn out to be. They grow tempers; they join the army; they need glasses. Who wants them?

We think . . . that girls ought to sing. They ought to sing, and dance while they're singing. But we are not girls, and so can be almost certain that we know nothing about the matter.

It's the most marvelous and terrible thing in the world. Everyone, but everyone, is pretending to be someone else.

A house is a kind of box you put a girl in.

Marya supposed this was why no one asked after stolen fairy tale girls. What embarrassments they turn out to be. They grow tempers; they join the army; they need glasses. Who wants them?

My old friends, you must help me! Tell me what it is that a girl does in the way that a spider weaves, so that Solace will not grow up to be the wrong sort of girl." We like the wrong sorts of girls, they wrote. They are usually the ones worth writing about.

So my name is Scout. Yeah, my mom read To Kill a Mockingbird. Leave it to her to think 5th grade required reading is totally deep.

What's in a name?" rumbled Iago. "People will call you whatever they want. New owner, new name. If it bothers you, you oughtn't come when you're called. They'll learn eventually. I rarely come trotting when someone hollers for me. That's all a name's for, in the end.

I was born a girl in a world of Branwells, but I shall be more than I am meant.

Still, he's a good sort, even if he grumbles about having to wear the tiara.

St. Oscar says SCRAM to all that. Just be trash together and love as long as you can and then stop when you can't anymore and be trash separately.

We like the wrong sort of girls", they wrote. "They are usually the ones worth writing about.