Quotes About Self-perception

Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.

He made me feel an idiot, even when I knew he was a bigger one than I.

She wondered, briefly, if she was beautiful, decided she was and blew a kiss to her reflection

Ich sehe mehr aus wie - wenn ich es mir recht überlege sehe ich keiner berühmten Persönlichkeit irgendwie ähnlich, aber manchmal sah ich aus wie ein Blumenkohl.

Why couldn't I have a normal name? Keith Watson, Darren Jones — something like that. . . . Unless you've got an odd name yourself, you wouldn't know what it's like. You wouldn't understand. They say sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you. Oh, yeah? Well, whoever thought that one up was an idiot. An idiot with an ordinary name, probably. Words hurt .

You know, when you're a fat guy you don't need a reason to sweat. Guys come up to me and go "Jeez... what have you been doing - jumping rope in the attic or something?"..."Umm, no... I peeled an orange about an hour ago, why?

To be a teenager, it takes very little to think that someone else might actually know who you are, even as you spend all your time thinking that no one understands you. It's such a lovely feeling.

Each time she brushed her fingers over the convex curve of her stomach, she noticed that the minister's wife, the upper part of her face a whirring glass eye, would purse her lips with disgust. Camille began to rub her stomach more and more often, smiling as the minister's wife expressed her sour displeasure with the proceedings like a Pavlovian response.

To be a teenager, it takes very little to think that someone else might actually know who you are, even as you spend all your time thinking that no one understands you. It's such a lovely feeling.

Like Rachel Dolezal, I too became black around the age of five. I first became a n----r at nine, so I had me a good run.

But I'm used to him not being around, especially when I'm at school. I mostly didn't live with him. So I don't actually miss him even though I'm sorry that he's dead. Sometimes I realize that for a few hours I've forgotten all about him. I think I miss the idea of him more than miss his real self. Does that make me a bad person? I'm afraid it does.

She had been mistaken - she was only the center to herself, as always, and a small player playing her part in someone else's story.

We rework our own memories and reinvent ourselves to suit our tastes and predilections every day.

The biggest lie is the lie we tell ourselves in the distorted visions we have of ourselves, blocking out some sections, enhancing others. What remains are not the cold facts of life, but how we perceive them. That's really who we are.

To attract boyfriends, American girls pretend they are women, while Japanese women pretend they are girls.

It's meant I will act like less of an asshole, but feel much more like one.

But any time you have a thought in your head about you that didn't come from the heart of God, you're trespassing against your own body.

I don't get it, guys, I continued. I'd want to date me. Why is it so hard for me? I'm wicked fun, I dress nicely, I'm friendly... I'd love to date me. Wouldn't you?

The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn't say become a mirror, don't they? You see yourself as they see you, and no matter how far you come, you bring that mirror with you.

Ah, Elsa. You got a wrong picture of yourself. Even if that is true, what does a person do about it? The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn't say become a mirror, don't they? You see yourself as they see you. and no mater how far you come, you bring that mirror with you. Break it, Jean said. How? With a gosh dang rock. Jean leaned forward. I'm a mirror too, Elsa. You remember that.

From what I have been saying, I trust it is clear that when I can permit realness in myself or sense it or permit it in another, I am very satisfied. When I cannot permit it in myself or fail to permit it in another, I am very distressed.

we are the reflection of the idea of ourselves that we receive back from our kind.

We are for ourselves in large measure what we see and have seen of ourselves reflected back to us by our friends, our loves, and our enemies.

As if I were a calf at auction, Henry asked me to stand in profile. That night I was wearing knit pants, and my swelling outline must have been dramatic, but unable to see myself as others did, and curious but not offended by Henry's request, I turned forty-five degrees to the left. Across the room, the writer made an alarmed-sounding noise. Henry announced, to no one in particular, "You see?" The