Quotes About Authenticity

Until you trust you, you will be suspicious, disconnected and dishonest with yourself and everyone else

I had to find my sense of self, my authentic identity, my voice, and my center beyond the restrictions, limitations, and definitions that anyone else taught me, imposed upon me, or expected of me.

Even in the information age, trust is not a mass commodity that can be acquired; it must be handcrafted in your soul.

As we learn to heal the inner child and reconnect with the innocence and trusting nature of this authentic self, learning to trust others becomes a conscious act in response to experience rather than an unconscious reaction to unhealed wounds.

Schmerz ist Wahrheit; alles andere wird angezweifelt.

On the Internet, inside information is currency, and there will always be counterfeiters among us.

Never let them stop you from telling the story you want to tell.

Writers write because they have stories they need desperately to tell, and things they need just as vitally to say. It's not something where you have to go out and find an idea to write about, they're begging to be written. If you have nothing to say, and no story to tell...and I'm not being harsh, just honest...you're probably not a writer.

He loves me. You sound surprised. Nobody ever did. Not like this. It's easy to say, for some people. The words. But it's not just words with Roarke. He sees inside me, and it doesn't matter.

You're not perfect, and that makes you just exactly right.

If sex is dignified it's not being done right.

Why is that? Why do we love each other?" "Because we are what we are, and we're both okay with it.

You and Roarke have a different couple dynamic." "What the hell does that mean?" "Well." Peabody slid her eyes over to Eve's profile. "That was a nice way of saying neither one of you would let the other get away with holding back. Something's going on with one of you, the other sniffs it out and hammers away until it's all out there. You're both nosy, and just mean enough not to let the other one slide by.

You can't make this shit up.

I've eliminated everything else. This is what's left. And when you've eliminated everything else, what's left should be true.

Love, when it's real, doesn't hang on conditions.

Give her a cooey-dooey—" "Mavis!" "What?" "Mavis, I'm saying this for your own good. You have to stop the insanity. You sound like a moron." "I know." Mavis's eyes, currently purple, rolled. "I can hear myself, but I can't stop. It's like a drug. So

if you gave the media any part of yourself, it squeezed it, twisted it, and wrung it dry.

No, Paul, I couldn't care less if you tell me made-up stories. Our lies reveal as much about us as our truths.' (Said to Paul by Elizabeth Costello, the interloping novelist-angel-inner voice).

Besides, who is to say that the feelings he writes in his diary are his true feelings? Who is to say that at each moment while the pen moves he is truly himself? At one moment he might truly be himself, at another he might simply be making things up. How can one know for sure? Why should he even want to know for sure?

In der gegenwärtigen 'Kultur' geben sich wenige die Mühe, zwischen Aufrichtigkeit und dem Vorspielen von Aufrichtigkeit zu unterscheiden - ja, wenige sind zu dieser Unterscheidung überhaupt in der Lage -, wie auch nur wenige zwischen religiösem Glauben und dem Einhalten religiöser Vorschriften unterscheiden.

Is this love - this easy generosity, this sense of being understood at last, of not having to pretend?

Truth is not spoken in anger.Truth is spoken, if it ever comes to be spoken, in love.

The filth of village; honestly acquired.