Quotes About Self-perception

It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it. I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not Mine.

A la vérité, il forçait un peu sur le sublime : c'était un homme du XIXe siècle qui se prenait, comme tant d'autres, comme Victor Hugo lui-même, pour Victor Hugo.

I mean, really: what kind of person could possibly dislike me?

It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.Oh, Dexter, a savage inhuman monster has taken my boyfriend! Well damn it, I'm a savage inhuman monster, too—didn't that entitle me to some rest?

I was good at being charming, one of my very few vanities.

Hurray—I was someone else. I was not completely crazy yet. Seriously antisocial, of course, and somewhat sporadically homicidal, nothing wrong with that. But not crazy.

It was possible to feel superior to other people and feel like a misfit at the same time.

Pregnancy made her feel too much like an animal. It was embarrassing to be so publicly colonized.

I should also mention, with the vestigial pang of a once flat-chested girl, Desdemona's voluptuous figure.

It was possible to feel superior to other people and like a misfit at the same time.

Somehow I thought I could make more of myself by making less of myself.

With my distorted face and cane, I'd look like the Hunchbelly of St. Pat's.

Sexy is in your head and you don't feel sexy so you don't look it.

A volte penso di aver qualcuno dentro, ma è un'altra parte di me, più strana. A volte la vedo nello specchio.

Hefty? I'd railed to Peter, waving the clipping for emphasis. Hefty? For the record 'Hefty' is a trash bag. I'm festively plump.

sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like her skin no longer fit her, and her body was only a collection of flaws to be fixed or at least disguised, an endless source of despair.

She looked good in every shot, and not one of them had told the truth about the two of us, or about her, about who she was, or what she wanted, or who she'd been in love with. Not any more than my Instagram account told all of my truth, or Darshi's account, or Leela's.

It's almost religious, that belief, that faith that a piece of silk or denim or cotton jersey could disguise your flaws and amplify your assets and make you both invisible and seen, just another normal woman in the world; a woman who deserves to get what she wants.

With all the holes in you already there's no reason to define the outside environment as alien.

The truth is, we each of us have an inborn conviction that the whole world with everybody and everything in it, was created as a sort of necessary appendage to ourselves.

Beware of solipsism Funny word. Sounds like it means love of melons or something. I looked it up. It means believing that the self is the only reality. Am I solipsist?

Maniac kept trying, but he still couldn't see it, this color business. He didn't figure he was white any more than the East Enders were black. He looked himself over pretty hard and came up with at least seven different shades and colors right on his own skin, not one of them being what he would call white (except for his eyeballs, which weren't any whiter than the eyeballs of the kids in the East End).

Sometimes I feel like a writer, sometimes I just feel like a snitch.

Boys don't know how to be uncomfortable in their bodies, I realized, even the ones who don't look great. It's not that they can't be shy, or sad, or scared, just like girls. It's that they haven't been taught their bodies are bad their whole lives, like we are.