Quotes About Otherness

I am on the same plane specific object and free subject but never the two at the same time and always the one haunted by the Other.

I was always made aware of inequality in society, that there was a class system. In Somalia, we have clan structures. My mother's family is ethnically not Somali, and so we spoke often about what it meant to be 'other' in that way.

Larry felt a strange forgiveness for him because all monsters were misunderstood.

I figured maybe I'd start by making friends with some other tribes first and gradually work my way back around to the NightWings, but you're hardly a NightWing at all, so that's OK, then." Moon winced. "Hardly a NightWing at all" was essentially what she'd been hearing in the NightWings' thoughts about her for months. It was a little brutal to hear someone just say it out loud.

Tak, ludo?ercy i misjonarze s? dla siebie stworzeni.

I'm not a human anymore

After all, in this world of humans, he was little better than a monster, and what did a monster have to be afraid of in the dark?

This boy thinks I am not of his species, that I am some other kind of creature, one that can be crushed under the weight of a phone book. The pain is not great, but the symbolism is disagreeable.

If it's like us, why is it somewhere else? Deng asked. Dut

It may be that the best time for Otherness has already passed. Clearly part of the basis for this renaissance has been wealth, especially the unprecedented comfort enjoyed by the vast majority of Westerners since World War II, in which very few of us can even conceive of starving

In my core I have the strange impression that I don't belong to the human species

Life really just barely escapes me though the certainty comes to me that life is other and has a hidden style

Interesting." He takes another step closer, squatting and regarding us from eye level. "There are so few children in Faerie that I've never seen one of us twinned. Is it like being doubled or more like being divided in half?

They could fall in love with fresh, new people, or they could have the courage and humility to tear off some essential layer of themselves and reveal to each other a whole new level of otherness, a level far beyond what sort of music they liked. It seemed to her everyone had too much self-protective pride to truly strip down to their souls in front of their long-term partners. It was easier to pretend there was nothing more to know, to fall into an easygoing companionship.

It was something to do with her sense of always feeling separate from everybody else, as if things that worried them couldn't possibly worry her, as if she were immune from the ordinariness of life.

Because when you get sick, I think that's the hardest part: living in a separate universe from everyone else, like having been exiled to a foreign country.

I wanted to write a first contact thing and I vaguely knew I wanted it to be in a beating the beast vein.

In Los Angeles, I feel like the ugly duckling, like I'm from Venus or something.

In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side, when the fabulous purred on my snow-white sheet like some dark cat come in from the desert.

And each night in bed I thought of her as the moon came through my window. I could have lowered my shade to make it darker and easier to sleep, but I never did. In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side, when the fabulous purred on my snow-white sheet like some dark cat come in from the desert.

And each night in bed I thought of her as the moon came through my window. I could have lowered my shade to make it darker and easier to sleep, but I never did. In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side...

Part of what attracts us to artists is their otherness, their refusal to conform, their big middle finger stuck up in the face of Society, such that their very a- or immorality is what makes their art artistic rather than academic.

Children are not like us. They are beings apart: impenetrable, unapproachable. They inhabit not our world but a world we have lost and can never recover. We do not remember childhood – we imagine it. We search for it, in vain, through layers of obscuring dust, and recover some bedraggled shreds of what we think it was. And all the while the inhabitants of this world are among us, like aborigines, like Minoans, people from elsewhere safe in their own time-capsule. I

Children are not like us. They are beings apart: impenetrable, unapproachable. They inhabit not our world but a world we have lost and can never recover. We do not remember childhood – we imagine it. We search for it, in vain, through layers of obscuring dust, and recover some bedraggled shreds of what we think it was. And all the while the inhabitants of this world are among us, like aborigines, like Minoans, people from elsewhere safe in their own time-capsule.