Quotes About Authenticity

Our concern must be to live while we're alive... to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a facade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are.

It is not the end of the physical body that should worry us. Rather, our concern must be to live while we're alive - to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a facade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are.

But that wasn't right. Her life wasn't a story, and it didn't have to end this way. She was a girl. She was real. It was true.

Man muss fähig sein, sowohl eine öffentliche Rolle, als auch ein inneres Selbst durchzuhalten; denn durch die öffentliche Rolle manifestiert sich das innere selbst als etwas "völlig Idiosynkratisches und undefinierbares, aber doch unmißverständlich Identifizierbares, sodass wir nicht durch einen plötzlichen Rollenwechsel verwirrt werden.

I feel Elsa's arms around me. I can hear her crying. That's weird for a lot of reasons. Elsa doesn't cry, and she never puts her arms around me.

I have lots of records, quite a collection, actually, that I stole from my mom. I have the original 'Thriller' album and I have a really great 'Elton John's Greatest Hits ' and I also have a N.E.R.D. album. Records sound more original. They have more edge.

I go to taste simplicity. Not the simplicity of a golden age; but the simplicity of gold and tinsel.

I do not want a husband who honours me as a queen, if he does not love me as a woman.

There's one thing your writing must have to be any good at all. It must have you. Your soul, your self, your heart, your guts, your voice -- you must be on that page. In the end, you can't make the magic happen for your reader. You can only allow the miracle of 'being one with' to take place. So dare to be yourself. Dare to reveal yourself. Be honest, be open, be true...If you are, everything else will fall into place.

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say, I love her for her smile . . . her look . . . her way Of speaking gently . . . for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and, certes, brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may be changed, or change for thee- and love so wrought, May be unwrought so.

His answer was - not the common gallantries which come so easily to the lips of me - but simply that he loved me - he met argument with fact. He told me - that with himself also, the early freshness of youth had gone by, & that throughout it he had not been able to love any woman - that he loved now for the first time & the last.

I do not say everything I think (as has been said of me by master-critics) but I take every means to say what I think, which is different! — or I fancy so!

Girls in my profession know a little too much about men. The ones who want to know a woman as a person are fewer than you'd hope, and most of those don't even realize it about themselves. They don't care who a woman is, or what she's scared of, or who she wants to become. They think they want a woman, but what they really want is a flattering looking glass wearing lipstick and telling them what they want to hear.

The most important thing in the universe, it turns out, is a complex of subjective and individual approximations. Of tries and fails. Of ideals, and things we do to try to get close to those ideals. It's who we are when nobody is looking.

Was this what having an identity felt like? Was this being someone? Feeling like there was a core of who you were beyond which you could not be altered? Feeling . . . continuity. Feeling like you existed as a real, solid thing, apart from your trauma.

There was, they conceded, no point in pretending to be other than they were, as it seemed their presence was not secret and never had been.

She was mannishly magnificent, tall and broad-shouldered, with her long stride and her mane of unrestrained mahogany-black curls. She wore boots, and the heels clapped on the rugs unrepentant as a horse's hooves.

He tried to feel the meaning of the words, speak them with passion nonetheless. If this was what he was inspired to, then he would not believe he had been inspired wrong. And it wrong to simply intone the Scholar-God's arguments. They must be…internalized. Considered. Spoken as if they lived and breathed and were each day argued anew, not as if they lay dead and dusty in some tomb.

I would back away growling. Wer I not a man. Or the masquerade of one.

It's way too late to start pretending you like me." "I do like you, you enormous pain in the ass.

Her voice sounded hurt. The emotion might even be real. People are complicated.

If he wants me to be a Prince, I'm not sure I can prevent it. But I'll be my own sort of Prince. I will.

Tomorrow, I won't have to worry about not being real anymore.

I don't love you. You shouldn't change yourself for me.