Quotes About Individuality

And what is strangest of all, most unnatural of all, is that the finger hasn't got the slightest desire to be on the hand, to be with the others;

So here I am in step with everyone now, and yet I'm still separate from everyone. I am still trembling all over from the agitation I endured, like a bridge after an ancient train has rumbled over it. I am aware of myself. And, of course, the only things that are aware of themselves and conscious of their individuality are irritated eyes, cut fingers, sore teeth. A healthy eye, finger, tooth might as well not even be there. Isn't it clear that individual consciousness is just sickness?

Who knows who you are... A person is a novel: you don't know how it will end until the very last page. Otherwise, it wouldn't be worth reading to the very end...

But a thought swarmed in me; what if he, this yellow-eyed being – in his ridiculous, dirty bundle of trees, in his uncalculated life – is happier than us?

For one second I stared at her like all the others as something that had dropped out of nowhere: She was no longer a number, she was simply a person; she existed as nothing more than the metaphysical substance of the insult committed against OneState. But then some one of her movements-turning, she twisted her hips to the left-and all at once I knew: I know her, I know that body resilient as a ship-my eyes, my lips, my hands know it-in one moment I was absolutely sure of it.

Who knows who you really are? A person is like a novel: Up to the very last page you don't know how it's going to end. Otherwise, there'd be no point in reading....

It was a remarkable intersection of thoughts. She said almost in the same words the things I had written down before the walk! Do you understand? Even the thoughts! It is because nobody is one, but one of. We are all so much alike—

I feel myself. But it's only the eye with a lash in it, the swollen finger, the infected tooth that feels itself, is conscious of its own individual being. The healthy eye or finger or tooth doesn't seem to exist. So it's clear, isn't it? Self-consciousness is just a disease.

O percurso natural para se passar da nulidade à grandeza é esquecermo-nos de que somos um grama e sentirmos que somos a milionésima parte duma tonelada.

It's clear that you want to seem original. But is it possible that you—?" "It is clear," interrupted I-330, "that to be original means to stand out among others; consequently, to be original means to violate the law of equality. What was called in the language of the ancients 'to be common' is with us only the fulfilling of one's duty. For—

Now, think of a square, a living, beautiful square. And imagine that it must tell you about itself, about its life. You understand, a square would scarcely ever think of telling you that all its four angles are equal: this has become so natural, so ordinary to it that it's simply no longer consciously aware of it. And so with me: I find myself continually in this square's position.

It just goes against nature for a thinking and seeing being to live among these irregularities and unknown X's. It is as if someone blindfolds you and then makes you walk around like that and you feel your way around, stumbling, and you know that there is an edge somewhere very nearby and that it would only that one step for the only thing left of you to be a flattened, mangled piece of meat. Isn't that just about the same thing I'm going through?

We must all go insane—as soon as possible go insane.

Ora o conhecimento de si, o reconhecimento da própria individualidade só o têm o olho onde acaba de cair um cisco, o dedo esfolado, o dente dolorido. Quando sãos, o olho, o dedo, o dente não têm existência alguma. Não prova isto claramente que a consciência de si é de facto uma doença?

Kendimi duyumsuyorum. Ama sadece içine kirpik kaçan göz, ÅŸiÅŸmiÅŸ parmak veya çürük diÅŸ kendini duyumsar, bireysel varl???n?n bilincine var?r. SaÄŸl?kl? göz veya parmak ya da diÅŸ varlarm?? gibi görünmezler. Yani gayet aç?k, deÄŸil mi? Kendi kendinin bilincine varmak hastal?kt?r.

we live behind our transparent walls that seem woven of gleaming air —we are always visible, always washed in light. We have nothing to hide from one another. Besides, this makes much easier the burdensome and noble task of the Guardians, for, Who knows what might happen otherwise? Perhaps it was precisely those bizarre, opaque dwellings of the ancients that gave rise to their psychology of individuality.

How awful for you! By the looks of it, you've developed a soul.

?i tu ai în tine, pesemne, câteva pic?turi de sânge solar, de p?dure. Poate c? tocmai de aceea eu te --

the natural course from nullity to grandeur is to forget that you are a gramme and to feel that you are a millionth part of a ton.

Ak, kad tai iš ties? b?t? tiktai romanas, o ne dabartinis, iks?, ?-1 ir nuopuoli? pilnas mano gyvenimas.

DüÅŸünen, görüÅŸ sahibi bir yarat???n düzensizlikler, bilinmezler, X'ler aras?nda yaÅŸamas? doÄŸaya ayk?r?d?r: Gözlerinizi baÄŸlad?klar?n? ve yürümeye, hem de hemen birkaç ad?m ötede uçurumun kenar?n?n bulunduÄŸunu bildiÄŸiniz halde el yordam?yla yürümeye zorlad?klar?n? farz edin.

That's because no one is one but only one of. We're so identical...

But how was I going to explain my whole being, this whole disease that I've been jotting down in these pages? So I shut up and went along peacefully. A leaf torn off a tree by a sudden gust of wind falls peacefully downward, but on the way it twists, catches at every twig, offshoot, branch that it knows. That is just how I caught at each silent spherical head, at the transparent ice of the walls, at the light blue needle of the Accumulator Tower as it thrust up into the clouds.

felt myself. To feel one's self, to be conscious of one's personality, is the lot of an eye inflamed by a cinder, or an infected finger, or a bad tooth. A healthy eye, or finger, or tooth is not felt; it is non-existent as it were. Is it not clear then, that consciousness of oneself is a sickness?