Quotes About Identity

It was possible to feel superior to other people and like a misfit at the same time.

Élem a magam életét, nyalogatom a saját sebeimet. Lehet, hogy nem ez a legjobb megoldás, de én ilyen vagyok.

Supimos de esa cárcel que es ser chica, de los impulsos y sueños que genera y por qué acaban sabiendo qué colores combinan y cuáles no.

Az életek is úgy repednek meg, ahogy a jég. Személyiségek. Egyéniségek.

Lefty and Desdemona's cousin, Sourmelina, had gone to America and was living now in a place called Detroit. Built

We had never known her. They brought us here to find that out.

pulled out a blue bandanna

Antes era possível, em geral, dizer a nacionalidade da pessoa pela cara. A imigração acabou com isso. Depois ainda dava para descobrir a nacionalidade pelos sapatos. A globalização acabou com isso.

Pais supostamente legam características físicas aos filhos, mas acredito que todo tipo de outras coisas também: temas, cenários, até mesmo destinos.

Ezekben az idÅ'kben még meg lehetett állapítani az emberek nemzeti hovatartozását a szaguk alapján. Dezdemóna a hátán fekve, behunyt szemmel is felismerte az egyik oldalán fekvÅ' szomszédja árulkodó hagymaszagáról, hogy csak magyar lehet, a másikéról meg, akinek nyershús-szaga volt, azt, hogy örmény.

You used to be able to tell a person's nationality by the face. Immigration ended that. Next you discerned nationality via the footwear. Globalization ended that. Those Finnish seal puppies, those German flounders—you don't see them much anymore. Only Nikes, on Basque, on Dutch, on Siberian feet.

All of a sudden America wasn't about hamburgers and hot rods anymore. It was about the Mayflower and Plymouth Rock. It was about something that had happened for two minutes four hundred years ago, instead of everything that had happened since.

Fashion is the attempt to evade that principle: to be the echo of someone else's success and, therefore, to create nothing that might create an echo of its own.

One's country was like one's self. The more you learned about it, the more there was to be ashamed of.

I was extracted, spanked, and hosed off, in that order. They wrapped me in a blanket and put me on display among six other infants, four boys, two girls, all of them, unlike me, correctly tagged. This can't be true but I remember it: sparks slowly filling a dark screen. Someone had switched on my eyes.

it was then Cecilia gave orally what was to be her only form of suicide note, and a useless one at that, because she was going to live: "Obviously, Doctor," she said, "you've never been a thirteen-year-old girl.

Callie rises up inside me, wearing my skin like a loose robe. She sticks her little hands into the baggy sleeves of my arms. She inserts her chimp's feet through the trousers of my legs. On the sidewalk I'll feel her girlish walk take over, and the movement brings back a kind of emotion, a desolate and gossipy sympathy for the girls I see coming home from school.

I've lived more than half my life as a male, and by now everything comes naturally. When Calliope surfaces, she does so like a childhood speech impediment. Suddenly there she is again, doing a hair flip, or checking her nails. It's a little like being possessed.

Like the Sun Belt or the Bible Belt, there exists, on this multifarious earth of ours, a Hair Belt.

obviously, dr, she said, you've never been a thirteen-year-old girl.

So, to recap: Sourmelina Zizmo (née Papadiamandopoulos) wasn't only my first cousin twice removed. She was also my grandmother. My father was his own mother's (and father's) nephew. In addition to being my grandparents, Desdemona and Lefty were my great-aunt and -uncle. My parents would be my second cousins once removed and Chapter Eleven would be my third cousin as well as my brother.

Jeffrey Eugenides

Everyone he knew was convinced that religion was a sham and God a fiction. But his friends' replacements for religion didn't look too impressive. No one had an answer for the riddle of existence. It was like that Talking Heads song. 'And you may ask yourself, how did I get here? …And you may tell yourself, 'This is not my beautiful house. And you may tell yourself, 'This is not my beautiful wife.

On the wall of his living room Billy had painted the words 'Kill the Father.' Killing the father was what, in Billy's opinion, college was all about. Who's your father? he asked Madeleine. Is it Virginia Woolf? Is it Sontag? In my case, Madeleine said, my father really is my father. Then you have to kill him. Who's your father?