Quotes About Self-perception

He" was a girl indeed, Hal thought.

it must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul...

don't be self-conscious - other people are completely unaware of you and more concerned with how they appear ...

Richard II is something of a plaster saint and knows it only too well. But it is a rewarding part, with lovely things to say, and I thought it suited my personality.

I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.

If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?

suggestion of some cognitive scientists that there is no unified self at the core of each individual; the self is just a byproduct of the interaction of a host of cognitive functions.

He was the kind of guy who was always telling you what kind of guy he was.

Al señor Evans le gustaría que dibujaseis vuestro autorretrato —anunció—. Algo que muestre cómo os veis a vosotros mismos. [...] No había dejado de usar el lápiz negro, y lo que había creado era muy revelador: un par de manos agarradas a unos barrotes que cruzaban de arriba a abajo la hoja. No había cara ni cuerpo. Sólo dedos aferrados a gruesos barrotes negros.

One might as well claim that the tide which rubs pebbles smooth on a beach is doing the pebbles a service because being round is prettier than being jagged. It's of no concern to a pebble what shape it is. But it's very important to a person.

It's funny about a face, how big a difference it makes. I mean, one day you look in th mirror and you think, yeah, that's me, that's my face. And then another day...you think, that's not me, that's not my face. So am I my face? I mean is that all I am?

I imagined myself taller, imagined myself angry, and pulled the subtlest glamour I could around me.

She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair, aware of how defensive her body language was and not caring at all.

Unless something remarkable had changed, he wore spiky, kinky sandy-auburn braids a shade darker than his freckled skin and a shade paler than his light-catching eyes.

The way one is envisaged by other people - what easier way is there of envisaging oneself? There is a fatalism in one's acceptance of it. Solitude is not the solution, one feels followed. Choice - choice of those who are to surround one, choice of those most likely to see you rightly - is the only escape.

Sometimes people have a lot to lose by telling stories in certain ways, so they work very hard to hide the things that don't fit with their views of themselves,

People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.

She was shamed. Women like herself, sheltered, indulged, secure, beloved; and yet they dared to find life hard, they dared to pity themselves because the path they trod was strewn with pink rose-petals when their own choice would have been crimson. She hated herself. Her hatred choked her, and she could not speak.

And when is it ever convincing, the belief others have in your abilities? You know perfectly well they can't see the mess inside you.

I've never thought of you like that,' said Christopher. 'How could I? If you were any other woman, I could tell you I loved you, easily enough, but not you-- because you've always seemed to me like a part of myself, and it would be like saying I loved my own eyes or my own mind. But have you ever thought of what it would be to have to live without your mind or your eyes, Kate? To be mad? Or blind?

The rarest thing in the world is a woman who is pleased with photographs of herself.

I don't know, shifted a little or something, smoothed down–people would think of me the way they think of Dave, and everything would always be perfect. I would be perfect.

I am not invisible no matter how deeply I feel that I am.

La parete era interamente occupata da uno specchio alto e gigantesco. Susan fu costretta a vedere se stessa: una donna dalla faccia pallida e dai capelli grigi, dai calzoni neri cascanti. Al contrario, Helen allo specchio sembrava piccola, compatta, linda e ordinata, con addosso un vestito di maglia aderente e un paio di collant: dove aveva imparato a vestirsi così?