Quotes About Identity

A hand closed around her arm, warm and hard, and it could possibly have been comforting if she had possessed the faintest idea whose appendage it was.

So she settled for the truth. "I think you a man." "Is that an insult?" "No." Anything male is dragged around by its breeches, and she holds the string attached to them.

Ma ora non c'è più bisogno nemmeno dei paparazzi, sono gli stessi rappresentanti dello Stato a mostrarsi orgogliosamente alla nazione in modalità selfie. Siamo come voi, è il messaggio. Ma chi vi ha detto che dovete essere come noi?

It's important to still look like yourself on your wedding day, so I didn't do anything drastic.

I'm just not a private person. It's not like I do things because I want things to be public it's just that's my way of expressing myself, and I happen to be very famous.

I love MySpace it's done an amazing job for me and it's been insane over the past couple of weeks, but I'm not a poster girl for them.

I squat there and think about how you get trained early on as a woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them. Sometimes you mix the two up in a terrible tangle that's hard to unravel.

It's strange, to not be the youngest kind of adult anymore

Sometimes you just find a culture that breaks your heart," she said finally.

Why with our emphasis on the individual are we still so blinded by the urge to conform?

you get trained early on as a woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them.

You have so much to offer, she was often told, as if she had a tray of cigarettes and candy perpetually strapped to her waist.

Who are we and where are we going? Why are we, with all our "progress", so limited in understanding & sympathy & the ability to give each other real freedom? Why with our emphasis on the individual are we still so blinded by the urge to conform?

I was raised on science as other people are raised on God, or Gods, or the crocodile.

She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself. With him, she was at ease: her skin felt as though it was her right size.

She looks embarrassed, sitting on that stool, to be who she is now. She seems pained by all the compliments Muriel's colleagues are giving her. Success rests more easily on men.

Who are we and were are we going? Why are we, with all our "progress" so limited in understanding and sympathy and the ability to give each other real freedom? Why with our emphasis on the individual are we still so blinded by the urge to conform?

And now I am engulfed in this new flavor, so different from the light but humorless flavor of the Anapa and the thick bitter taste of the Mumbanyo, this rich deep resonant complex flavor that I am only getting my first sips of and yet how do I explain these differences to an average American who will take one look at the photographs and see black men & women with bones through their noses and lump them in a pile marked Savages?

My mother was a real person. I am not a real person.

squat there and think about how you get trained early on as a woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them. Sometimes you mix the two up in a terrible tangle that's hard to unravel.

My mom was a real person. I am not a real person. She had convictions and took action. She has purpose and belief. She helped others. I help no one. She helped found that donation organization. I couldn't even write one thank-you letter for a refrigerator. All I want is to write fiction. I am a drain on the system, dragging around my debts and dreams. It's all I've wanted. And now I'm not even able to do that.

thin but charming layer of femininity covering a masculine confidence and drive.

You don't always see how much other people are shaping you.

it scared me, the idea that this professional might go in and find that other person inside me, the person who was feeling all the things I did not let myself feel.