Quotes About Confusion

Reality was one step out of line, a cardigan with the buttons done up wrong.

I have these realistic dreams and snap wide awake in the middle of the night. And for a while I can't work out what's real and what isn't... That kind of feeling. Do you have any idea what I'm saying?

There are times when the understanding does not come until later, when it no longer matters. Other times I do what I must do, not knowing my own mind, and I am led astray.

Each day the sun would rise and set, the flag would be raised and lowered. Each Sunday I would have a date with my dead friend's girl. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to do.

I, too, remember that feeling. You are caught between all that was and all that must be. You feel lost.

I spend more time being confused than not," I answered.

Like a button on a shirt buttoned wrong, every attempt to correct things led to yet another fine --not to say elegant-- mess.

I don't know what I want. And, if that's the case, as my ex-wife said, I'd only hurt people.

I'm not trying to imply I can keep up this silent, isolated facade all the time. Sometimes the wall I've erected around me comes crumbling down. It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, before I even realize what's going on, there I am--naked and defenseless and totally confused. At times like that I always feel an omen calling out to me, like a dark, omnipresent pool of water. ~page 10

Whenever I wake up in a strange house I always feel as if the wrong soul got stuffed into the wrong body.

I plant my elbows on the kitchen table, prop up my chin and think: When the hell did the compass needle get out of whack and lead my life astray?

I would begin to think that I wanted to do something, but then I would become incapable of distinguishing between the probable results of doing it and of not doing it. I often get the feeling that things around me have lost their proper balance, though it could be that my perceptions are playing tricks on me.

I'm confused. Really confused. And it's a lot deeper than you think. Deeper… darker… colder. But tell me something. How could you have slept with me that time? How could you have done such a thing? Why didn't you just leave me alone?

Tell me," said Sumire, "have you ever felt confused about what you're doing, like it's not right?" "I spend more time being confused than not," I answered.

The kind of helpless feeling when everything you're used to has been ripped away. Like there's no more gravity, and I'm left to drift in outer space with no idea where I'm going.

Everything was too sharp and clear, so that I could never tell where to start - the way a map that shows to much can sometimes be useless. Now, though I realize that all I can place in the imperfect vessel of writing are imperfect memories and imperfect thoughts.

I forced words out: There are some things about myself I can't explain to anyone. There are some things I don't understand at all. I can't tell what I think about things or what I'm supposed to do about them. But if I start thinking about these things in too much detail, the whole thing gets scary. And if I get scared , I can only think about myself. I become really self-centered, and without meaning to, I hurt people. So I'm not such a wonderful human being.

It is very difficult to logically explain the illogical.

A percepção não passa da soma dos nossos mal-entendidos.

I just got my signals crossed. First thing, I have to untangle the connections. Otherwise, I come away empty-handed. Or with someone else's hands. Or even with a missing hand.

I'm caught between one void and another. I have no idea what's right, what's wrong. I don't even know what I want any more.

Telling people her name was always a bother. As soon as the name left her lips, the other person looked puzzled or confused.

Reality recedes until you can't tell who's sane and who's not.

Gradually, I was getting worn down. My sense of direction had evaporated by our fourth day. When south became the opposite of east, I bought a compass, but going around with a compass only made the city seem less and less real. The buildings began to look like backdrops in a photography studio, the people walking in the streets like cardboard cutouts.