Quotes About Identity

I become so scared when I realize that over a period of hours I lost my human constitution. I don't know if I'll have another one to replace the lost one with. I know that I'll need to take care not to surreptitiously use a new third leg that can grow back in me as easily as a weed, and then call that protective leg "a truth".

Capta essa outra coisa de que na verdade falo porque eu mesma não posso.

A vida é igual em toda a parte e o que é necessário é a gente ser a gente.

Who will come to gather the fruit of my life? If not you and I myself?

identity which is the first immanence

No. It's not easy. But it "is." I ate my own placenta so as not to have to eat for four days. To have milk to give you. Milk is a "this." And no one is I. No one is you. That is what solitude is.

Para Sartre a existência precede a essência, no sentido de que existir precede isso que nós somos; e que somos o que nós mesmos escolhemos ser.

I lost something that was essential to me, and that no longer is. I no longer need it, as if I'd lost a third leg that up until then made it impossible for me to walk but that turned me into a stable tripod… I know I can only walk with two legs. But I feel the useless absence of that third leg and it scares me, it was the leg that made me something findable by myself, and without even having to look for myself.

Un hombre tarda en encontrar sus manos

I, neutral cockroach body, I with a life that at last is not eluding me because I finally see it outside of myself -- I am the cockroach, I am my leg, I am my hair, I am the section of brightest light on the wall plaster -- I am every Hellish piece of myself -- life is so pervasive in me that if they divide me in pieces like a lizard, the pieces will keep on shaking and writhing.

The most profound of murders: one that is a mode of relating, a way of one being existing the other being, a way of our seeing each other and being each other and having each other, a murder where there is neither victim nor executioner but instead a link of mutual ferocity. My primary struggle for life. "Lost in the Fiery Hell of a Canyon a Woman Struggles Desperately for Life.

A verdade não faz sentido, a grandeza do mundo me encolhe. Aquilo que provavelmente pedi e finalmente tive, veio, no entanto me deixar carente como uma criança que anda sozinha pela terra. Tão carente que só o amor de todo o universo por mim poderia me consolar e me cumular, só um tal amor que a própria célula-ovo das coisas vibrasse com o que estou chamando de um amor. Daquilo a que na verdade apenas chamo mas sem saber-lhe o nome.

Who hasn't ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be person?

We don't call a man mad who believes that he eats God, but we do the one who says he is Jesus Christ.

As far as I was concerned, either I was a homosexual or I wasn't, so making films would change nothing.

Someone, and no matter where, collects the pieces of my shadow.

Someone, and no matter who, inhabits my head like it's an empty house, he enters, he leaves, he bangs each door behind him, powerless I put up with this ruckus. Someone, and maybe it's me, palms my most private thoughts, he crumples them, returns them to dust. Someone, and it's much later now, slowly walks across the room and, not seeing me, stops to contemplate the havoc. Someone, and no matter where, collects the pieces of my shadow.

The more we claim to discriminate between cultures and customs as good and bad, the more completely do we identify ourselves with those we would condemn. By refusing to consider as human those who seem to us to be the most "savage" or "barbarous" of their representatives, we merely adopt one of their own characteristic attitudes. The barbarian is, first and foremost, the man who believes in barbarism.

If a man is not faithful to his own individuality, he cannot be loyal to anything.

went with you or not." "But what would happen if you quit him and stayed here in Marseille?" "I don't care." Aslima began dancing round the room singing a pig-song in her language which is something like this translated: Want to know what's loving sweet, Want to know what's loving big? When two naughty lovers meet And unite in loving pigs.

The effect of sincerity is to give one's work the character of a protest. The painter, being concerned only with conveying his impression, simply seeks to be himself and no one else.

It matters more what's in a woman's face than what's on it.

I feel that I'm at my best as a person and that I'm coming home when I walk on to a set, or on to a stage, so if I can perform in one way or another I think I'll be okay.

But to do this kind of work, you have to be very strong, otherwise you lose your personality, your identity.