Quotes About Self-discovery

In order to write the book you want to write, in the end you have to become the person you need to become to write that book.

I'm also not sure exactly where and I when I got the language for who and what I am. I don't remember how I learned the words gay, homo(sexual), fag, queer, etc. I just seemed to have picked them up and undertsood what they meant.

Lo que tú necesitas no soy yo: seguro que es un espejo. Pues cualquier otro que no seas tú no pasa de ser, para ti, más que un espejo en donde reflejarte. Yo, desde luego, no tengo el propósito de volver a un desierto de espejos como ese

If we had been far apart even before the accident, what was I trying to recapture at this late date with all the fuss about the mask? Nothing was worth the trouble of getting back. There wasn't a single thing to hide from the eight uneventful years we had spent together; since I was enclosed by a wall of nonexpression thicker than my bandages, I had lost all right to complain.

Perhaps I had stumbled unexpectedly on the terrible truth that anyone closing the window of the soul with a mask of flesh was merely shutting away scar webs inside. Having lost my face, perhaps I could make contact with another world of real things, which were not pictures painted in windows.

Al no encontrar alimento en el mundo exterior, el hombre lo debe buscar en su interior; si no se consigue lo que se desea, se transforma en un ser que deja de desear, en lugar de persistir en el deseo.

Every inch of me had been cut, filed, steamed, exfoliated, polished, painted, or moisturized. I didn't look a thing like Opal Mehta. Opal Mehta didn't own five pairs of shoes so expensive they could have been traded in for a small sailboat. She didn't wear makeup or Manolo Blahniks or Chanel sunglasses or Habitual jeans or La Perla bras. She never owned enough cashmere to make her concerned for the future of the Kazakhstani mountain goat population. I was turning into someone else.

I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty. You don't grasp the fact that what is most alive of all is inside your own house; and you walk from one holy city to the next with a confused look! Kabir will tell you the truth: go wherever you like, to Calcutta or Tibet; if you can't find where your soul is hidden, for you the world will never be real!

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush? We sense that there is some sort of spirit that loves birds and animals and the ants-- perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in your mother's womb. Is it logical you would be walking around entirely orphaned now? The truth is you turned away yourself, and decided to go into the dark alone. Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten what you once knew, and that's why everything you do has some weird sense of failure in it.

Evinden ç?kman gerekmez. Masandan kalkma ve dinle. Hatta dinleme, yaln?zca bekle. Hatta bekleme bile, tamamen sessiz ve yaln?z ol. Dünya, maskesini düÅŸüresin diye, gelip kendini sunacakt?r sana, baÅŸka türlü olamaz; kendinden geçmiÅŸ bir halde k?vranacakt?r önünde.

This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.

That is what you're making of the end of your mother's life, child. What will you make of your own?

The Sufis, the Sunni mystics with whom the Ismailis felt great affinity, had an axiom: "He who knows himself, knows his Lord.

One good thing that comes from living the nomadic life demanded by an expedition is that one sheds the fake skin donned from living too closely among society. For those of us who live for the freedom of such a lifestyle, that skin is dry and itchy and ill fitting. From my observances, that skin is much like a callus caused by the pure irritation of being forced to spend so much time with one's fellow man. Thank God I am spared such nonsense.

Fair warning, as it turned out—kindergarten is all about learning which parts of you are welcome at school and which are not.

What did it mean, all this personal looking backward? What were people hoping to find? What bearing, really, did their ancestry have on who they were now?

At twenty-two, I had the callowest possible definition of interesting and, by the measure of my own calipers, was far from interesting myself.

So many people have the TV or radio constantly turned on for company, or spend their time reading trashy novels, aimlessly surfing the Net, and so on. Then suddenly one day you are old or sick and you realize you have done nothing with your life. All your thoughts are other people's thoughts and you have no idea who you really are or what the purpose of your life might be.

My court-appointed therapist would say I was trying to fill a hole." "Is that what you call your vagina?" Claire chuckled under her breath.

Laura was not a lonely teenaged girl anymore. She was fifty-five years old. She was a mother, a cancer survivor, a businesswoman. This was her life, Not Nick

She would tell you she gave in to mourning you for too long, let the pity and self-hate drag her into that black pit that I still crawl around in. If she did, her stay there was temporary. Somehow, she managed to wrench a piece of her former self out of the ground. She tells me that the other, miserable half, the chipped-off, cast-off half, still follows at a respectful distance, ready to take over the second she stumbles.

Change tells you who you really are.

Omul nu-ÅŸi descoper? adev?ratul sine decât în situaÅ£ii-limit?.

Personality begins where comparison ends.