Quotes About Individuality

He says we will graduate knowing how to read and write because we'll spend a million hours learning how to read and write. Why not spend that time on art: painting, sculpting, charcoal, pastel, oils? Are words or numbers more important than images? Who decided this? Does algebra move you to tears? (Hands raise, thinking he wants answers.) Can the plural possessive express the feelings in your heart? If you don't learn art now, you will never learn to breathe!!!

face my truth This is not a resting bitch face This is a touch-me-and-die face

Some people grow up knowing what they want to do; they color inside the lines, study at the right school, check off the boxes, and in the end they are handed the grown-up life they've dreamed of. That's mostly bullshit, for the record. Trying to figure out what you want to do, who you want to be, is messy as hell; the best anyone can hope for is to figure out the next step.

I have got a daughter, whose life is already separate from mine, whose will already follows its own directions, and who has quickly corrected my woolly preconceptions of her by being something remorselessly different. She is the child of herself and will be what she is. I am merely the keeper of her temporary helplessness.

Oddly enough, the very considerations that had made marriage impossible for him were mirrored in my own being: a rabidly independent nature, an impatience with lesser minds, total unconventionality, and the horror of being saddled with someone who would need cosseting and protection—the

To continue with the analogy, my perspective, my brush technique, my use of colour and shade, are all entirely different from his. The subject is essentially the same; it is the eyes and the hands of the artist that change.

Men do not change their names with marriage, and it had always struck me as odd that women were expected to do so. Perhaps

Everyone is allowed a weakness, even women of the twentieth century.

Nobody'd believe a story like yours except a dyke who shaves dogs.

The book was We Walk Alone by Ann Aldrich.

For my own part, I'd never live with anyone, male of female. I have trouble enough living with myself.

I imagine, therefore I belong and am free".' Of

We had not a taste in common. Our characters and predispositions were wholly different, and yet in the magical ease of this friendship we felt something promised us.

Of women, the most we can say, not being Frenchmen, is that they are burrowing animals.

How far must you go to gain respect? Um... Well, it's kind of simple: just remain your own. Or you'll be crazy sad and alone.

What do I care if you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad!

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 don't like plain nails. I get sad.

It's sad when girls think they don't have anything going on except being pretty.

What may seem depressing or even tragic to one person may seem like an absolute scream to another person, especially if he has had between four and seven beers.

It's always sad to me when certain people are excluded from being considered beautiful... because of someone else's expectation. That bothers me.

I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.

It is sad to be an exception. But not to be one is even sadder.

No one is black and white or good or bad or happy or sad or what have you. [All have] particular idiosyncrasies that make them fascinating and that's how I tend to approach a character.