Quotes About Authenticity

But I'll never forget. On the day of the Festival of Pure Brightness, I take off all my bracelets. I remember the day when I finally knew a genuine thought and could follow where it went. That was the day I was a young girl with my face under a red marriage scarf. I promised not to forget myself. How nice it is to be that girl again, to take off my scarf, to see what is underneath and feel the lightness come back into my body!

It felt like all the truth got whitewashed with fake happiness, she said, only it was not happy and it was worse than fake. It was dangerous

El amor no se puede forzar

Cuando se fijan tanto en mi, primero me pongo arisca, luego triste y al final termino volteando mi corazón, con el lado malo hacia fuera, y el bueno hacia dentro buscando siempre la manera de ser como de verdad me gustaría ser y como podría ser... si no hubiera otra gente en este mundo

Sometimes we reveal ourselves when we are least like ourselves.

She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.

When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons.

When one is pretending, the entire body revolts.

Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself.

I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.

She lacks the core of sureness, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on reflections of herself in others' eyes. She does not dare to be herself.

You haven't loved yet, he said. You've only been trying to love; beginning to love. Trust alone is not love, illusion is not love, desire alone is not love. All these were paths leading you out of yourself, it is true, and so you thought they led to another, but you never reached the other. You were only on the way.

I told her, We have both lost ourselves, but sometimes we reveal the most when we are least like ourselves. I am not trying to think any more. I can't think when I am with you. You are like me, wishing for a perfect moment, but nothing too long imagined can be perfect in a worldly way. Neither one of us can say just the right thing. We are overwhelmed. Let us be overwhelmed. It is so lovely, so lovely. I love you June.

I can only connect deeply or not at all.

I am apparently gentle, unstable, and full of pretenses. I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself. I wrote, lived, loved like Don Quixote, and on the day of my death I will say: 'Excuse me, it was all a dream,' and by that time I may have found one who will say: 'Not at all, it was true, absolutely true.

Yes, it is you, and I am in love with you and I am going to be frank with you, brutally frank, because when you have an equal you can afford to be frank.

I'm neurotic--in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.

I have created myself a soul, big as the world, that leaks all over, and I have to keep calling for the plumber.

Man is always trying to create a woman who will fill his needs, and that makes her untrue to herself.

I never lose sight of the whole. An impeccable dress is made to be lived in, to be torn, wet, stained, crumpled.

I adore the struggle you carry in yourself. I adore your terrifying sincerity.

I always have difficulty with people who are not openly warm, expressive. I need a certain sign, a certain invitation.

I have forgotten my mask and my face was in it. Man