Quotes About Identity

Aye. And I can do without a viper-tongued wench.Wench? Wench? Lass is one thing, but did you just call me a wench? I'll have you know I'm a doctor. No one calls me a wench. I passed my boards with flying colors. I could take you apart and put you back together with my eyes closed.

It's a terrible thing to feel alone when you are with other people, when those other people are supposed to be your family even thought they aren't, not really. That kind of being alone makes you feel wrong inside your own body, like you bones don't fit under your skin, like something inside your stomach wants to get out and fly away.

Your power is in your individuality, in being exactly who you area.

If you keep hearing negative things about yourself, they start to seep into your consciousness and you start to feel like they're true. They cloud who you know you really are and you can lose yourself.

Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if we didn't have to think about being boys or girls or men or women or old or young, fat or thin… if we could all just be certain we were the same. We might be bored, but the danger of life and of living would be gone.

Accept that you are bad and dirty and cheap and should be thrown to the wolves as scrap meat, and must never bear children, for who knows the faces they would be locked behind from birth until death.

Everyone still sees the smiling Laura Palmer. The girl with perfect grades and perfect hair and perfect little fingers that want to sometimes, late at night, go into the mirror to strangle the daydreaming troublemaker I see in the reflection!

I wonder if life is still something I can make up.

A volte penso di aver qualcuno dentro, ma è un'altra parte di me, più strana. A volte la vedo nello specchio.

many women don't live like God's beloved. We don't internalize that His love has made us lovely. We don't rest in the reality that His sufficiency has made us good enough. We don't identify with our identity. We don't accept that God has accepted us.

We are human beings, not human doings, aren't we, Gomer girl? Our identity is not based on what we do. It's based on what God did for us.

But try not to let the "I" in iddiction speak too loudly, sweet Gomer girl. After all, "I" is smack-dab in the middle of lie. Instead, let your "I" be found where it should be—hidden in Chr-i-st!

Who I am and what I struggle with are not the same thing.

But what we're really trapped by is perceptions. You think you need to lose weight for someone to love you. I think if I gain weight, no one will love me. What we really need is to just stop thinking of ourselves as bodies and start thinking of ourselves as people.

Your first love is important. It's part of your story. The story you'll tell yourself, the one you'll tell about yourself, for the rest of your life.

If a writer writes poems and short stories and novels, but nobody ever reads them, is she really a writer?

I don't like futons. They can't commit. I'm a bed! I'm a couch! I'm a bed! I'm a couch!

A girl named Jo once had a life / But that's gone now; she's only wife.

Jo thought sometimes that Bethie liked to play at being a rebel, when the truth was that her sister had a genius for conformity, for making herself the best, most stylish example of whatever version of femininity was currently in fashion.

Make sure you have people who love you, the real you, not the Instagram you.

You make the wrong choices, you make mistakes, you disappear for a decade, you marry the wrong man. You get hurt. You lose sight of who you are, or of who you want to be, and then you remember, and if you're lucky you have sisters or friends who remind you when you forget your best intentions. You come back to yourself, again and again. You try, and fail, and try again, and fail again.

How do you find happiness in a body like yours...like mine? How do you find courage to follow anything anywhere if you don't feel like you fit in the world?

sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like her skin no longer fit her, and her body was only a collection of flaws to be fixed or at least disguised, an endless source of despair.

Just a regular gal, Jo thought, and smiled, thinking, If you only knew.