Quotes About Individuality

In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.

Why? Because his hair is brown and grows away from his temples; because he opens and shuts his eyes, and his nose is a little out of drawing; because he has two lips and a square chin, and a little finger which he can't straighten from having played baseball too energetically in his youth.

Qualche volta al signor Pontellier veniva il dubbio che sua moglie cominciasse ad accusare qualche lieve squilibrio mentale. Vedeva chiaramente che non era più lei. O meglio, non vedeva che Edna stava diventando se stessa, e che ogni giorno si liberava di quella falsa identità che adottiamo come un abito con cui presentarci davanti al pubblico.

He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself and daily casting aside the fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.

A characteristic which distinguished them and which impressed Mrs. Pontellier most forcibly was their entire absence of prudery.

Well, for instance, when I left her today, she put her arms around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were strong, she said. 'The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.

I suppose this is what you would call unwomanly; but I have got into a habit of expressing myself. It doesn't matter to me, and you may think me unwomanly if you like.

There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature.

There would be no one there to live for her during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

One of these days, she said, I am going to pull myself together for a while and think - try to determine what character of a woman I am; for, candidly, I don't know.

I wanted to live in a clean, renovated Victorian house full of books, not a rough-hewn, unfinished industrial loft. I wanted to raise bright, good kids, to write bright, good novels in a quiet study, to cook wholesome meals and listen to Bach. He wanted to play loud amplified music, sleep late, drink tequila, and travel. It seemed to me that we didn't want to be the people we'd married each other for.

There is no right or wrong way to tell a story. You have to find your own way. You can get your idea from listening, looking, or imagining. Stories are everywhere. All you have to do is pay attention.

Never use anybody else's power, but always use yours.

There was, truly no place for him. The home of his childhood was long gone, and it had never been his home, even when he was a child. His mother had said to him, Do not anger your father. Try to do as he says. Try to be who he wants you to be. But he had not known how to do that, had he? He still did not know how to do that. He knew, only, how to be himself. And shouldn't home be the place where you are allowed to be yourself, loved as yourself?

He looked at me, and, my goodness, his eyes were bright, and it occurred to me that they were probably so bright because he had never had to ask himself who he was or where he belonged or who he wanted to be.

It is very dangerous for you to be who you are, said Brother Edik. and so you must pretend to be someone you are not. But how can I pretend to be someone I am not when I don't know who I am?

And shouldn't home be the place where you are allowed to be yourself, loved as yourself?

I don't know," said Diana. "I gave up a long time ago trying to decide whether we're ever ourselves or are only playing roles. And who could tell which the role was, the passionate kisser or the ruthless conqueror? Maybe they both are roles. Or maybe they're both true. Can't two contradictory things exist inside one person?

what do I deserve? Sylvia contests. Why is the woman always expected to give up on life? She's a writer, not a teacher. She can; she does. She is the arrow, not him, nor him, nor him, these men who would have her be charming and quiet, reciting the names of insects in Latin, stirring something at a stove.

But things were different when she was on her own. She didn't have to put a brave face on it.

But "Trust Women" doesn't mean that every woman is wise or good or has magical intuitive powers. It means that no one else can make a better decision, because no one else is living her life, and since she will have to live with that decision, not you, and not the state legislature or the Supreme Court, chances are she is doing her best in a tight spot.

don't think women have the right to a self. They are supposed to live for others. Qualities that are seen as normal and desirable in men—ambition, confidence, outspokenness—are perceived as selfish and aggressive in women, especially when they have children.

What can that mean except that women's sexuality is what really defines them, not their brains and gifts and individuality and character, and certainly not their wishes or their ambitions or their will?

I think heroes and heroines are both vulgar and boring and usually lead that kind of lives. But when you tell people you were just doing your own thing in an admittedly escalated situation, they say, Ah, yes, etc.