Quotes About Self

But is life worth living in the wrong form?" said Elphie. "The interior doesn't change," she answered, "except by self-involvement. Of which be not afraid, and also beware.

But what is character? How solid? We cut our hair, we shave our beards, we lose a limb. We remain ourselves. In dreams, however, we swap identities licentiously. We sabotage the structures of our character without a thought. None

Research suggests that when we have conflicting goals, we don't manage ourselves well. We become anxious and paralyzed, and we often end up doing nothing.

Happy people make people happy, but I can't make someone be happy, and No one else can make me happy.

The fact is, changing a habit is much more challenging if that new habit means altering or losing an aspect of ourselves.

Research shows that the more elements make up your identity, the less threatening it is when any one element is threatened.

Der Mensch hängt an dem Seinen, an sich selbst und dem Seinen, bis über den Tod hinaus und bangt davor, das Leben aus den Händen zu verlieren - dies Wirklichste von allem Wirklichen, dies Erbärmlichste von allem Erbärmlichen, dies Unendlichste von allem Unendlichen; bangt vor der Einsamkeit, auf der sein selbst beruht, die sein Selbst ist, bangt davor, ohne Mitmenschen ringsum zu sein - und vielleicht von Gott vergessen.

Man clings to himself and what is his, over and beyond death itself, and he is afraid to let life out of his hands—life, this most real of all things, this most pitiful of all pitiful things, the most eternal of all that is eternal.

I have the gift of neither the spoken nor the written word, especially if I have to say something about myself or my work. Whoever wants to know something about me -as an artist, the only notable thing- ought to look carefully at my pictures and try and see in them what I am and what I want to do.

Self-confidence depends on environment: one does not speak in the same tone in the drawing room than in the kitchen.

I have come to have the firm conviction that vanity is the basis of everything, and finally that what one calls conscience is only inner vanity.

When you are some-'one', why would you wish to be some-'thing'?

You see, my boy, everything depends upon assurance here. A clever fellow can more easily become a minister than an under-secretary. One must obtrude one's self on people; not ask things of them.

In the spectacle — the visual reflection of the ruling economic order — goals are nothing, development is everything. The spectacle aims at nothing other than itself.

That which was the economic it must become the I.

A hard truth: that courage can be without meaning or impact, need not be rewarded, or even known. The world has not been made in that way. Perhaps, however, within the self there might come a resonance, the awareness of having done something difficult, of having done . . . something .

What's the point of knocking yourself out for anybody but yourself? The answer was obvious. There wasn't any.

We must kill the false woman who is preventing the live one from breathing.

It makes me cry, I want to talk about something I am not sure I can talk about, I want to talk about the inside from the inside, I do not want to leave it I am so happy in the silky damp dark of the labyrinth and there is no thread

By writing her self, woman will return to the body which has been more than confiscated from her, which has been turned into the uncanny stranger on display - the ailing or dead figure, which so often turns out to be the nasty companion, the cause and location of inhibitions. Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write your self. Your body must be heard. Only then will the immense resources of the unconscious spring forth.

The verb "to be" here means to generate your own presence, your real presence.

The news I bring is to say that, man being the only animal who hates himself, the likely fate of the world is total self-destruction.

He felt like a criminal, though the only laws he'd broken were his own, and he wasn't sure which ones they were.

This ghost of a mother had begun to ask him questions about who he was and who he truly loved. Was he capable of love?