Quotes About Identity

It's not much of a tail, but I'm sort of attached to it.

We can't all and some of us don't. That's all there is to it.

And if anyone knows anything about anything," said Bear to himself, "it's Owl who knows something about something," he said, "or my name's not Winnie-the-Pooh," he said. "which it is," he added. "so there you are.

The things that make me different are the things that make me ME!

And if anyone knows anything about anything," said Bear to himself, "it's Owl who knows something about something," he said, "or my name's not Winnie-the-Pooh," he said. "Which it is," he added. "So there you are." Owl

Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily, wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being somebody else

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the color of his hair.

Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.

Oh, when I was in love with you, Then I was clean and brave, And miles around the wonder grew How well did I behave. And now the fancy passes by, And nothing will remain, And miles around they'll say that I Am quite myself again.

A forgotten past is a past that is yet to be. A forgotten history is a memory missing from our collective conscience. An incomplete history is like an incomplete mind that has forgotten who it is and where it came from.

I think women gather up into themselves what they have been through much more than we (men) do. To them, what is past becomes a real part of them, as much a part of them as a limb; to us it's always something external, at the best the rung of a ladder, at the worst a weight on the heel.

A Whig is a sort of third sex by itself that combines all the failings of the other two.

Sylvia had finished her story, and the mystery was clear to Chayne. She had told him the secret which she did not know herself. He was sure now why Gabriel Strood had changed his name; he knew now why Gabriel Strood no longer climbed the Alps; and why Kenyon would answer no question as to the disappearance of his friend.

Slavery comes in many guises lady. A woman should recognize that.

And still you'll hesitate to tell him, won't you? Why? Because you're a woman? Is your destiny such a small thing then? To keep your legs open and your mouth shut?

Pre-high tech, objects thunked and crashed and clopped, amid a thunder of drums, a tumult of trumpets. Today things beep and cheep and whistle. We have come from the roar of the lion to the chirp of the tree frog, ceaselessly bleating our identities while the frog-eating bats hover above us.

Where is the pain when your pride is wounded? And why do we say that: wounded? There is no gash, no blood, not even a scratch. Which part of us hurts? The brain cells? The neurons? What, for goodness' sake, what?

Where I am going, nothing of me will remain: yet, I'll drift through the voices of coyotes, drip into florets by a mountain rock.

Spelling is local, or rather national.

Don't they say that all the people in your dreams are really yourself?

Le « culturel » vient renforcer le « naturel » dans un cercle vertueux. C'est le fameux « Sois un homme, mon fils »

Je parle le français depuis plus de trente ans, je l'écris depuis vingt ans, mais je ne le connais toujours pas. Je ne le parle pas sans fautes, et je ne peux l'écrire qu'avec l'aide de dictionnaires fréquemment consultés. C'est pour cette raison que j'appelle la langue française une langue ennemie, elle aussi. Il y a encore une autre raison, et c'est la plus grave : cette langue est en train de tuer ma langue maternelle. -L'Analphabète

In vain does the disguised traveller inwardly rebel against the influences and impressions which are wearing away his real self. The impressions of the past lose more and more their hold on him until they fade away, leaving the traveller hopelessly struggling in the toils of his own fiction, and the rôle he had assumed soon becomes second nature with him.

When are they going to stop calling me General?" "When are they going to stop calling me Princess?" Han & Leia