Quotes About Self

The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt

He's lonely, that's all. So am I. Well, I'd rather be lonely than be with the wrong person.

Se zgâia la imaginea ei în ferestrele lucioase ale magazinelor de parc? ar fi vrut s? se asigure, clip? de clip?, c? exist? în continuare.

eram propria mea femeie.

I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was

I cannot undo myself

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass? Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her- The mausoleum, the wax house.

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.

These are my hands My knees I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman

I can change, whittle my square edges to fit in a round hole. God, I hope I'm never going to massacre myself that way.

I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.

Era com si el que jo volia matar no fos pas fins d'aquella pell […], sinó arreu, més endins, més secret, i molt més difícil d'atansar-hi.

I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions

There is no terminus, only suitcases / Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit / Bold and shiny, with pockets of wishes. (from 'Totem')

Perhaps that's why I want to be everyone - so no one can blame me for being I.

Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh.

I wasn't steering anything, not even myself

I love you because you are me … my writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way.

Myself the rose you achieve--- This body, This ivory Ungodly as a child's shriek. Spiderlike, I spin mirrors, Loyal to my image, Uttering nothing but blood--- Taste it, dark red!

Try to have a sense of 'I'; I = myself, as the center of my powers, as the creator of my world.

I shall move north. I shall move into a long blackness. I see myself as a shadow, neither man nor woman, Neither a woman, happy to be like a man, nor a man Blunt and flat enough to feel no lack. I feel a lack. I hold my fingers up, ten white pickets. See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

But I am I now; and so many other millions are so irretrievably their own special variety of I that I can hardly bear to think of it. I: how firm a letter; how reassuring the three strokes: one vertical, proud and assertive, and then the two short horizontal lines in quick, smug succession. The pen scratches on the paper... I... I... I... I... I... I.

I have stitched life into me like a rare organ, And walked carefully, precariously, like something rare. I have tried not to think too hard. I have tried to be natural. I have tried to be blind in love, like other women, Blind in my bed, with my dear blind sweet one, Not looking, through the thick dark, for the face of another. I did not look. But still the face was there.

The size of the problem is never the issue—what matters is the size of you!