Quotes About Identity

I may be sick. I may come from a hole in the ground. My best friend may be an insect. But at least I don't live in decent society.

I was just another stupid girl waiting for Prince Charming to give me true love's first kiss, and I hated myself for it.

Matthew, confess now. Are you a closeted font nerd? Do you go to these conferences? I promise I won't respect you any less if you are. OK, fine, secretly I will, but it's better to get this off your chest and be who you are, than to live in deception. Hiding the truth will only cripple your emotional development Well, I'm sorry to dissapoint you. I'm not a font nerd. You can email me in Papyrus and I won't care.

You are not the first, and will not be the last, to say so. I wear my "warped" label with pride.

What is perceived as normal. That makes it other people's failings. Deficits. Not yours. Who the hell sets the standards, huh? Who gets to say how we are supposed to be? Or who we are supposed to be? And how dare anyone make you feel inadequate for being who you are? It's not okay. It pisses me off.

Shut up he says teasingly. I know what you're thinking, and that's not why you're here with us We walk for a minute. Why am I? Sabin shrugs. Does there really have to be an answer to that? Sometimes it's just right. You fit. Jesus, kid, can't you feel it? Don't question everything. I smile. I do feel it. Belonging.

You have taught me that I am allowed to like myself as I am, at whatever stage I am in. I can change, I can stay the same, or I can be whoever it is that is right for me; but I can be satisfied. No, more than that. I can be proud. I can celebrate. That is what I am going to do.

We are not goddamn statistics. We will never be. We are the exception, and we are exceptional. Got it?

Matt took a deep breath. Something just happened between them. Julie felt something for him. She did. He could tell even through this online world. Whether it was him or Finn didn't really matter. It was a difference of names really, that's all.

Whatever you like, my fairest princess of duchesses of the queendom." "That doesn't make any sense." He raises an eyebrow. "Have we met?" I

But I do not fit well into any social mold whatsoever. That is not appealing to others.

Te necesito —le suplicó —eres todo lo que no soy.

Celeste knew that, according to societal standards at least, she was attractive, but she didn't quite understand why those standards existed in the first place. Her appearance had nothing to do with the strange creature that she was.

He had no skills or smarts or education to distinguish him, which made him just the sort to be taken with the notion that he belonged to a master race

Is this chicken, what I have, or is this fish? I know it's tuna, but it says 'Chicken by the Sea.

I was like a lot of women who get their wish: I loved being a mom, I just didn't love being me.

I wanted to see who I was, without using another person's love for me as a measurement of my value.

Greatness is never achieved by trying to imitate the greatness of another. Greatness is chipping away at all that does not belong to you and then expressing yourself so truly that others can't help but recognize it.

I believe we forget who we are over time, and in our state of forgetfulness we struggle and employ all kinds of learned behaviors that don't necessarily help us or bring us happiness. Each of us has a self that exists undamaged and whole, from the moment we are born waiting to be reclaimed.

I think there is something a little too self conscious about enjoying being an outsider.

How is it you're so beautiful and so fucking ugly inside! You know it wouldn't take much to make your outside look like your inside!! I could just chop your brain out! It doesn't deserve such a pretty body...

When the language one identifies with is far away, one does everything possible to keep it alive. Because words bring back everything: the place, the people, the life, the streets, the life, the sky, the flowers, the sounds. When you live without your own language you feel weightless and, at the same time, overloaded. Your breathe another type of air, at a different altitude. You are always aware of the difference.

Is that what you think of when you think of me? Gogol asks him. Do I remind you of that night? Not at all, his father says eventually, one hand going to his ribs, a habitual gesture that has baffled Gogol until now. You remind me of everything that followed.

On a sticky August evening two weeks before her due date, Ashima Ganguli stands in the kitchen of a Central Square apartment, combining Rice Krispies and Planters peanuts and chopped red onion in bowl.