Quotes About Self

When I write, I write for myself, and I have high expectations... so I'm just trying to meet those. I'm not going to distract myself with other people's expectations.

But I think it is always difficult to have high expectations of yourself or anyone else.

You should have high expectations for yourself and others should come second.

Coach Morris wasn't too hard on me, not at all. Being drafted where I was at, there were high expectations for me. I still have high expectations for myself.

Along with everyone's expectations, I have high expectations for myself, personally. I hold myself to a higher standard and I think that's why I continue to get better.

With make-up, I much prefer my natural face. I'm confident with myself like that, but when I wear make-up, I like to look like myself. I love dewy skin, a matte lip, and a bad highlight!

The only group that is less self-aware than Hillary Clinton is the media.

Man has no greater enemy than himself.

My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not; I think thy answers make me what I am.

The one principle of hell is – "I am my own

But there is a light that goes deeper than the will, a light that lights up the darkness behind it: that light can change your will, can make it truly yours and not another's - not the Shadow's. Into the created can pour itself the creating will, and so redeem it!

The love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self, where we mope and mow, striking sparks, and rubbing phosphorescences out of the walls, and blowing our own breath in our own nostrils, instead of issuing to the fair sunlight of God, the sweet winds of the universe.

But in truth there was more expression in the flower than was yet in the face. The flower expressed what God was thinking of when He made it; the face, what the girl was thinking of her self. When she ceased thinking of herself, then, like the flower, she would show what God was thinking of when he made her.

The darkness knows neither the light nor itself; only the light knows itself and the darkness also. None but God hates evil and understands it.

What is faith in Christ? It is the leaving of your way, your objects, your self, and the taking of his and him; the leaving of your trust in men, in money, in opinion, in character, in religious doctrines and opinions, and then doing as Christ tells you. I can find no words strong enough to serve for the weight of this necessity-this obedience. It is the one terrible heresy of the church that it has always been presenting something else than obedience as faith in Christ.

If you know you are yourself, you know that you are not somebody else; but do you know that you are yourself? Are

Who can give a man this, his own name?

Self will come to life even in the slaying of self; but there is ever something deeper and stronger than it, which will emerge at last from the unknown abysses of the soul: will it be as a solemn gloom, burning with eyes? or a clear morning after the rain? or a smiling child, that finds itself nowhere, and everywhere?

No one can say he is himself, until first he knows that he is, and then what himself is. In fact, nobody is himself, and himself is nobody.

You see when he forgot his Self his mother took care of his Self, and loved and praised his Self. Our own praises poison our Selves, and puff and swell them up, till they lose all shape and beauty, and become like great toadstools. But the praises of father or mother do our Selves good, and comfort them and make them beautiful. They never do them any harm. If they do any harm, it comes of our mixing some of our own praises with them, and that turns them nasty and slimy and poisonous.

If you know you are yourself, you know that you are not somebody else; but do you know that you are yourself? Are you sure you are not your own father?—or, excuse me, your own fool?—Who are you, pray?" I

If man could do what in his wildest self-worship he can imagine, the grand result would be that he would be his own God, which is the Hell of Hells.

These love self, not life, and self is but the shadow of life. When it is taken for life itself, and set as the man's center, it becomes a live death in the man, a devil he worships as his God: the worm of the death eternal he clasps to his bosom as his one joy.

There is endless room for rebellion against ourselves.