Quotes About Authenticity

chapter 2 Raised by Wolves The biggest gift of being unambiguously mentally ill is the time I've saved myself trying to be normal.

I thought I was white bread.

If I had had a drinking problem, I would have hidden it, but I didn't so I didn't.

I do not know anything about Art with a capital A. What I do know about is my art. Because it concerns me. I do not speak for others. So I do not speak for things which profess to speak for others. My art, however, speaks for me. It lights my way.

Keep true to the rare music in your heart, to the marvelous and unique form that is and shall always be nothing else but you. Keep to that and you can do no wrong, which I realize is easier said than done.

Assez bizarrement, donc, le meilleur argument en faveur de l'authenticité est le coût absolument inabordable de la fiction. Il semblerait donc que le spectre qui hante Navidson Record et ne cesse de se ruer contre la porte, soit tout simplement la menace récurrente de sa propre réalité.

and I want something else. I'm not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it's drenched in sunlight and it's weightless and I know it's not cheap. Probably not even real.

Lua and Marie are holding hands. They look like they're so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house. Lua kisses her. Just softly on the lips. And she kisses back. Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

Not a beauty queen. Not one of those. You know the ones. She was real.

It feels nice to emerge from the lies.

A couple of them were school beauty-queen pretty while a few were that more real-looking type. A realer kind of pretty.

Normalmente vamos por la vida reyéndonos constantemente lo que nos decimos. «Estoy bien», decimos. «Estoy genial.» Pero de vez en cuando la verdad se te echa encima y no puedes sacudírtela. Entonces te das cuenta de que a menudo esa verdad no es una respuesta, sino una pregunta. Incluso ahora, me pregunto hasta qué punto me convence mi vida.

Nice has nothing to do with me.

Ljudi su ponekad prelijepi. Ne zbog izgleda. Ne zbog onoga Å¡to govore. Nego zbog onoga Å¡to jesu.

How well do we really let ourselves know each other?

Lua kisses her. Just softly on the lips. And she kisses back. Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

Bazen insanlar çok güzel oluyordu. GörünüÅŸleriyle deÄŸil. Söyledikleriyle de deÄŸil. Sadece varl?klar?yla.

As the kids dance around the front yard under the night sky and the lights, I see something. Lua and Marie are holding hands. They look like they're so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house. Lua kisses her. Just softly on the lips. And she kisses back. Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

No," I tell him, "I won't. I won't be okay just for the sake of it. Not anymore.

She could only hope they could read the depth of sorrow in her face, to recognize that it was true, and not fleeting. I

They tell us to "be ourselves," but if you listen closely, there's more to that sentence: ". . . until you make them uncomfortable.

I don't want to stand in naked silence, pathetically unaware of how to be.

Sometimes people are beautiful Not in looks Not in what they say Just in what they are

Nothing squandered, nothing cloaked.