Quotes About Identity

You represent them?

No. Let's just say they and I are in the same club. They're my kind. You can never be.

When a society erases its past, for whatever reason," she said, "it cannot have a future.

Beware actors who can be anyone they wish to be; they are in fact no one at all, cold and empty, though they can be pied pipers to the masses.

The man you were still lives within you, repressed by the man you have struggled to become.

And anyway, things have a way of happening that force you to be what you are.

My plan was to drive to Peptoe, Arizona, and track down the three men who found me in a bassinet

I'm a tea-swilling limey, too.

I understood for the first time why music matters so much, how it reminds us of who we are and where we came from, of all the good times and the sadness, too. When

Under her restlessness and licentious pose is a repressed wholesomeness that will always make her regret devaluing herself, which, even in these strange times, he believes is true of more people than not.

This man on sixteen people's directories was named Alexander Gordius. To anyone lacking Woody's unique mind, the name would have looked like just another in a long list. But, to him, it seemed unlikely that someone would be named for both the creator of the Gordian knot and the man who solved it with a sword. To him it looked like a potential false identity.

I didn't mind dying—and being reunited with Stormy, whether in Heaven or in the unknown great adventure she calls "service"—but not until the threat to the children had been identified and met.

I'm no John Grisham or Thomas Pynchon

you were incarnate as yourself in numerous timelines, living many lives.

Woody said, "No. His name is Kipp.

Libby hears her name wrapped in the louder sound, attenuated and distorted—"Liiiiibeeeee

Woodrow Bookman, Woody

GETTING TO KNOW ME

Sometimes I wondered if I had everything backward, my life and purpose and meaning all backward. Maybe the best thing I had to offer was fry cookery of a high order, and maybe my paranormal abilities were nothing more than the equivalent of a talent for farting on command, better repressed than indulged. I, no less than anyone, was capable of self-delusion, of pride that led me to embrace a grander image of myself than was the truth.

Yeah. Because tonight I was that drawing. I always thought I knew exactly who I was. Then a simple shift of perspective, and I see a different me. Which one is real and which is fiction?

I'm Shelly Framington. But call me Sarah. I don't like who Shelly was, what she did.

Sarah seems to be Sarah now, but what will she be two hours from now

Libby has to trust her only friend, even though she doesn't know Sarah's true name.

it's likely that Francesca isn't even human anymore