Quotes About Authenticity

What I needed with all my starved and silent soul was just that particular way of shouting back at the world.

Your love for me does not exist in the real world. Yes, it is love, I do not deny it. But not every love has a course to run, smooth or otherwise, and this love has no course at all . . . But that is remote from love and remote from ordinary life. As real people we do not exist for each other.

Tal como nos conocemos, somos objetos falsos, imposturas, ramilletes de ilusiones" "Los juicios sobre las personas no son jamás decisivos, surgen de resúmenes que inmediatamente hacen pensar en la necesidad de una reconsideración. Los arreglos humanos no son otra cosa que cabos sueltos y cálculos nebulosos, independientemente de cualquier cosa que para consolarnos pueda fingir el arte

I saw . . . what I've really know all along, that you are my truth. For me you are the way the truth and the life. Only here can I be totally myself.

You get so worked up and flowery! You sound as if you were quoting something all the time!

You've got to see me , Martin. I'm to blame. I've never been quite and entirely myself with you. The situation didn't let me be. The untruthfulness infected everything. I must break out a little? Do you see at all?

We did really love each other . . . didn't we? Didn't we? In the name of that reality — M.

Emotions really exist at the bottom of the personality or at the top. In the middle they are acted. This is why all the world is a stage…

Is your father writing a book? said Alison. No. He's existing. Some people live, like the rest of us, like the people in your plays. He just exists.

She had inhibited her sympathy, one genuine sympathetic impulse would have ruined her.

When one is very close to Truth itself, truthfulness vanishes.

But he's joking, he doesn't mean it. When Lucas makes a joke he means it.

We must keep this love uncontaminated even if we kill it.

I wanted to drag us all down into some common pool of feeling, I wanted to stop this conventional machine of awful insincere politeness.

There's a kind of reality, a kind of truth.

Lately Louise had decided to give up wearing make-up altogether, but had not yet acted upon the decision.

Of course you don't know yourself, lucky old you. I just know myself too bloody well.

writing about drugs is like that though, isn't it? You can just tell when someone is writing about drugs and they've never really done them. It screams out at you. That's something where I believe you have to have been there to really get it, y'know?

Cunts that try and psychoanalyse the fucked-up miss the crucial point: sometimes ye jist dae it cause it's thaire n that's wey ye are.

You can't lie to your soul.

I've always enjoyed boyishness, never striven for maturity. Manhood is an ill-fitting cloak on my shoulders, like being dressed by somebody else.

If we jist be oorselves, n be honest, thill nivir gie either ay us the fuckin joab.

He...breathed in heavy gulps of air to prove to himself that he was three-dimensional.

As he went about to the other workrooms he realised that every painting was a self-portrait even when it was a still life or a scene over the roofs of Paris; for no man ever pictured anything but himself, his core, the things that he was basically. With every brush stroke the artist was mercilessly exposed: he could not conceal nothing, he could pretend to be another person, to believe in other values, but in the end he would fool no one.