Quotes About Invisibility

I'm trying to make myself invisible. That's an odd thing to attempt.

He will talk about what some other people said, and what he and some other people did, and when he never specifically mentions women it will be like the Soviet news agency which never publicizes anything containing the names of the towns where the new bombs are.

The people stared through her as though she were invisible until she thought she was, and walked more easily then, just a cloud reflected in a stream.

No son precisamente esos muros invisibles de cosas silenciadas uno de los elementos más habituales de la vida en común?

Even when you're talking to them face to face you have this feeling of not connecting, as if the words just pass through them. Sometimes they remind me of the Invisible Man, but I've never quite understood why they end up that way.

Allmählich wurde mir klar, warum Frank auf so eine dreiste Weise morden konnte, ohne verhaftet zu werden. Weil in unserem Land niemand Notiz von Fremden nimmt. Ob das in Amerika auch so war?

You'll have to leave my meals on a tray outside the door because I'll be working pretty late on the secret of making myself invisible, which may take me almost until eleven o'clock.

All these young women these days who describe the veil as a signifier of their identity. I tell them they are suffering what the presently unfashionable philosopher Karl Marx would have called false consciousness. In most of the world the veil is not a free choice. Women are forced into invisibility by men. These girls in the West making their quote-unquote free choices are legitimizing the oppression of their sisters in the parts of the world where the choice is not free.

Unashamed, accustomed to solitude, he began to enjoy his near-invisibility. From his position at the edge of the school around him, he took vicarious pleasure in the activities of those around him, silently celebrating the rise or fall of this or that playground emperor, or the examination failures of particularly unappetizing class-fellows: the delights of the spectator.

She has lost her city eyes. Who you have city eyes you cannot see the invisible people.

She liked to disappear, even when she was in the same room as other people. It was a talent, as it was a curse.

But Sally didn't have the heart to fight back. She wore dark clothes and tried not to be noticed. She pretended she wasn't smart and never raised her hand in class. She disguised her own nature so well that after a while she grew uncertain of her own abilities.

This was the virtue of the dark: you were who you had always been, only no one could see you.

Shut up and do not think. All the theorists agree: shut up and keep the words from being said. And all of the scars will remain invisible; and all of the scars will remain under the skin. Where they belong.

She wanted to be known, but no one knew her.

It's easy to keep to yourself if you hang back and always sit in the last row and slip around corners as if you were a ghost.

No one on the street thought anything of the downtown girl dressed in black who had paused in the middle of midtown foot traffic. In her art student camouflage she could walk the entire length of Manhattan and, if not blend in, be classified and therefore ignored.

Perhaps this is simply the way it is with writers. It's when they don't see you that you matter. Because then you can belong to them in a way that permits them complete possession. You are determined by them. You are controlled. You are, generally speaking, exaggerated.

It's worse than unwelcome, said Samuel. The Africans don't even see us. They don't even recognize us as the brothers and sisters they sold.

The more powerful the powerful appear the more invisible they become, said Armando. This used to work differently than now. In the old days it was said that the powerful merged with the divine and the divine was all that one saw. But now the powerful have merged with the shadow, really with death, and when you encounter them they are really hard to see.

She had no idea how George delighted in her funny ways, or watched her through the window as she stood outside, finishing an apple or nibbling sunflower seeds. She did not register his glances, his quick inventory of her clothes, his pleasure in her face and wrists. She did not know his heart.

I suppose a lot of teenage girls feel invisible sometimes, like they just disappear. Well, that's me—Cammie the Chameleon. But I'm luckier than most because, at my school, that's considered cool. I go to a school for spies.

A good thief goes unseen. A truly great one merely goes unnoticed. She

Most people took no more notice of the profoundly deaf than they did of their own shadows. They