Quotes About Individuality

Mama says it's just her nature. Some people are flowers, and some are thorns.

Beth knew in that instant that she was not a true lady, and never would be. A true lady would have fallen out of her chair in a gentle swoon or screamed down the opera house. Instead, Beth leaned into Ian's touch, liking it.

Well, I am nothing like perfection." "You're better. You're you.

He remembered that his brothers had been puzzled and angry that Ian had let Isabella lay a hand on his arm or give him a quick kiss on the cheek, when he refused to let the rest of his family touch him. Ian had thought his brothers fools about that. If they couldn't understand the difference between three overbearing Scotsmen who smelled of smoke and whiskey, and a lovely young woman scented with of attar of roses, he couldn't help them.

He wasn't listening. "We don't fit in, you and me," he said. "We're both oddities no one knows what to do with. But we fit together." He took her hand, pressed her palm to his, then laced their fingers through each other's. "We fit.

He nuzzled her hair. "I've never been with a lady before. I don't know the rules." "Fortunately, I'm an unusual sort of woman. Mrs. Barrington did her best to change that, but she never succeeded, bless her." "Why should she want to change you?" Beth warmed. "My lord, I do believe you are the most flattering man of my acquaintance." Ian paused, his expression unreadable. "I state truths. You are perfect as you are.

Don't be normal, Tiger. Promise me?

I do not think of him as Lord Ian Mackenzie, aristocratic brother of a duke and well beyond my reach; not as the Mad Mackenzie, an eccentric people stare at and whisper about. To me, he is simply Ian.

This is what I discovered in all those museums in Europe when you really connect with a work of art, it doesn't matter that a million people have already stood where you're standing. The instant it means something to you, it's yours.

Who said you had to fill his shoes?" said Karen. "Wear your own shoes. They're bound to fit better. Walk your own path your own way and you'll be more likely to get to where you need to be".

You know I'm mad about you and you're the most fabulous daughter a mother could want. When you call me Mommy, it pushes my buttons and makes me feel older than I really am. Plus, you're a precocious child. Why don't you call me Anjoli?" We weren't like mother and daughter. It was more like two single women sharing an apartment in Greenwich Village in the seventies. Except I was five.

Everybody's crooked. The trick is to find out how they're bent.

Look, Mother, I am never going to be thin. I'm Norwegian. If you wanted a thin daughter, you should not have married a man whose female ancestors carried cows home from the pasture

I'm talkin' about you. Stop pretending you're normal. You're insane. Make that work for you.

The more obscure our tastes, the greater the proof of our genius.

Don't you see? A pretty girl must please the world. But an ugly girl? She's free to please herself.

The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.

Listen to your own thoughts and feelings very carefully, be aware of your observations, and learn to value them. When you're a teenager—and even when you're older—lots of people will try to tell you what to think and feel. Try to stand still inside all of that and hear your own voice. It's yours and only yours, it's unique and worth of your attention, and if you cultivate it properly, it might just make you a writer.

I grew up on a mixed diet of mass and class, and I still read that way. I hate it when people apologize for what they read. Some bestsellers aren't exactly literary. So what? They're fun and rip-roaring, Who instituted the book police and why do we have to answer them? Grrrrr!

This word, the people in it- my mother, Tantine- they sort us. Put us in crates. You are an egg. You are a potato. You are a cabbage. They tell us who we are. What we will do. What we will be." "Because they're afraid. Afraid of what we could be." Tavi said. "But we let them do it!" Hugo said angrily. "Why?" "Tavi gave him a rueful smile. "Because we're afraid of what we could be, too.

On those nights, the words were for me alone. They came up unbidden from my heart. They spilled over my tongue and spilled out my mouth. And because of them, I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a beetling hypocrite, a conjurer's daughter, a mad and murderous king.

Keep being the author of your own story. Never let anyone else write it for you again.

I could solve all the Diophantine equations, extend Newton's work on infinite series, complete Euler's analysis of prime numbers, and it wouldn't matter." She looked at Isabelle. "Ella is the beauty. You and I are the ugly stepsisters. And so the world reduces us, all three of us, to our lowest common denominator.

Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine...