Quotes About Identity

Don't get me started on the little airplane name badges, Natalie grumbled.

You're…normal." "That's the first time anyone's called me that in my life

But this time I see a new person. Silent. Still. Someone I believe I know. WHO ARE YOU? I move closer but the face is shrouded, the features blurred as if seen through a dirty lens. I'm tempted to run away, but I don't. I know where running leads. To the hole. To death. I know I can no longer fear.

I DON'T THINK so." I blinked upward into Cass's face. His hair was haloed by a fluorescent ceiling light. I was in a glaringly bright room with puke-green walls and a tiled floor. My arm was attached to an IV stand, and by the wall was a wheeled table with beeping medical machines. "Huh?" I said. "You called me Mom. I said, 'I don't think so.'" "Sorry," I said. "The Dream.

The head of the Massa," I said, "is my mom.

A shared vision is the first step in allowing people who mistrusted each other to begin to work together. It creates a common identity.

I have never figured out how women work but I do know that their skin color has no significance. Black or white, every last one is pretty pink on the inside and they are all impossible.

After four hundred years of betrayals and excuses, Indians recognize the new fashion in racism, which is to pretend that the real Indians are all gone.

Well, he was scarcely a parfit gentil knight; as Wolfie said, he looked like some Hollywood Geronimo trying to kick a ninety-dollar habit.

It is difficult to adjust because I do not know who is adjusting; I am no longer that old person and not yet the new.

Separated from the herd, it gains identity.

A true experience of prajna corresponds to "enlightenment" or liberation—not change, but transformation—a profound vision of his identity with universal life, past, present, and future, that keeps man from doing harm to others and sets him free from fear of birth-and-death. In

Maybe the kids will always be stronger. It's us—the impostors masquerading as protectors—who are unimaginably weak. For

Let us all unite, and...declare that we will not leave our own country...this is our...country; ...our forefathers have planted trees in America for us and we intend to stay and eat the fruit.

The characteristics of the region as an art center — geographically remote, overly conscious of regional identity, and desiring not to be another commonsense Midwest or an appendage of New York or California culture — predisposed local artists to domination by the first individual personalities to manifest both independence and exoticism.

In such paces — the Vancouvers, San Diegos, Portlands, Seattles, and, yes, San Franciscos and Los Angeleses — can we hope for anything more than jazzed-up melding of New York styles or self-conscious lampoons that aspire to kift the curse of provincialism?

I am only the image I can force upon the town.

Losing a friend is a terrible thing, the memories it shakes loose, even if you've drifted apart. The panicky feeling that you're losing bits of yourself.

about how we are all "emigrants from a country we remember too little of," how important to us are the fragments we do remember clearly and how we spend our time trying to reconstruct ourselves from these.

We have to be something more than the accumulation of things that happen to us, don't you think?

when you visit a place you used to live in for a long time, you see it differently; you become more like a tourist in your own land.

Our real beliefs are generally not to be found at the level of ego.

Shakespeare can show us what we are like at moments when we cannot see ourselves.

He did not recognize himself either. He was a totally new being, bald, covered with grease and blood, pink and blue eyed: he was his own baby...He was a great fat chuckling baby, and he shat and peed in his filthy trousers and kept driving.