Quotes About Denial

That is the problem with rumors," said Avin Brone. "It is very hard to prove that things are not true—much more difficult than proving they are.

Still, a fanatic heart will ignore what it does not want to know," said Minasao. "It will excuse even that which cannot be excused in the need to find someone to share its bitterness.

Have you ever noticed that when you try to deny some part of yourself, things fall out so you need that part more than any other?

Who is a bigger idiot than the man who believes the lies he tells himself?

My sister, the one who knows everything and pulls out facts out of a bottomless hat, told me people aren't afraid of snakes or water upon birth. It is only once we hear the snake and water stories, she says, once we are exposed to fear, that we deny our primal instincts and make room for the dread to take root and mature.

Despair, the worst of all the deadly sins, since it is denial of the self, of the god-in-self, since it is so seductive, like the snow-death, so warm. Ah, who would tear himself to pieces when he might lie down in such arms, in comfort, and cease. Bless you, my despair, my dear and loving despair. So painlessly you take my pain away. Oh Father, by no means dash the cup from my lips -

What you want most you push away from you. You want more than you care to admit.

Just because someone sees the truth doesn't mean they will accept it or allow that truth to change them.

I was also struck, when we walked together, by her seeming inability to feel some of the simplest emotions. "The mountains are pretty," she said, "but they don't give me a special feeling, the feeling you seem to enjoy … You look at the brook, the flowers, I see what great pleasure you get out of it. I'm denied that.

Mindful of Schopenhauer's Buddhist affinities, one might venture a summary of the four-booked World as Will and Representation by means of four 'noble truths': the world is my representation; its essence is will, that is to say, suffering; temporary release from suffering is possible through art; permanent release is possible through 'denial of the will', that is to say, death.

I needed to understand that maybe sometimes we go through life seeing only what we want to see.

You shouldn't ask questions when you know at heart you'd prefer not to hear the answers.

We didn't know. We didn't want to know. We never asked. All we wanted to do, now that we were back in the world, was forget.

Currently, the commodification of difference promotes paradigms of consumption wherein whatever difference the Other inhabits is eradicated, via exchange, by a consumer cannibalism that not only displaces the Other but denies the significance of that Other's history through a process of decontextualization.

La vida no tiene vuelta. Como la juventud o el viento, la vida pasa y nunca retorna por más que nos neguemos a aceptarlo.

Then we fucked so that we could pretend that nothing hurtful had just happened.

In fact, I believe that, barring a couple of key moments, Beli never thought about that life again. Embraced the amnesia that was so common throughout the Islands, five parts denial, five parts negative hallucination. Embraced the power of the Untilles. And from it forged herself anew.

When your mother had confronted your brother about Mrs. del Orbe he didn't deny it. What do you want, Ma? Se metío por mis ojos. Por mis ojos my ass, she had said. Tú te metiste por su culo. That's true, your brother admitted cheerily. Y por su boca. And then your mother puched him, helpless with shame and fury, which only made him laugh.

When your mother had confronted your brother about Mrs. del Orbe he didn't deny it. What do you want, Ma? Se metío por mis ojos. Por mis ojos my ass, she had said. Tú te metiste por su culo. That's true, your brother admitted cheerily. Y por su boca. And then your mother punched him, helpless with shame and fury, which only made him laugh.

Now, I crashed headlong into my Denial.

What will you do with your self? Many men and women are still in darkness, trying to figure out the meaning and purpose of life. But no matter what you try to do with your self— whether you deny it, obliterate it, annihilate it, accept it or express it—believe me, it is still alive and kicking.

And there goes Flint, wet nurse of the Spanish Main … No

Can I ask you a personal question"? Of all the rhetorical questions in the world, that is the one which irritates me most with its simultaneous gesture towards and denial of the trespass that is about to follow.

I think Shehnaz was right. In the end it wasn't about the Poet, or me or anyone. It was about a minute, five minutes, ten minutes in which she believed, with utter certainty, that she simply could not endure any more.' It seemed impossible, already, to have denied this truth for so long.