Quotes About Identity

Until we've defined a specific desire and become known for helping people achieve it, we shouldn't add too many conflicting story gaps to our StoryBrand BrandScript.

Once we identify who our customer is, we have to ask ourselves what they want as it relates to our brand. The catalyst for any story is that the hero wants something. The rest of the story is a journey about discovering whether the hero will get what they want.

A brand is two words: the 'Promise' you telegraph, and the 'Experience' you deliver.

building a brand may be more important than building a business.

When I look at myself in the first grade and I look at myself now, I'm basically the same. The temperament is not that different.

it never occurred to me that the girl I`d always been in high school could bend and shift and change without breaking altogether!

Yes, I'm Delia Maddox," she said, taking his hand in a quick, firm shake. "Grace's sister-in-law and--" "--the ravishing goddess responsible for creating Delia's delectable. The most amazing food in the Americas." Her pretty eyes twinkled at his nickname for her food, but she folded her arms and said, "Only in the Americas? Hmm, I must be slipping.

Even if exile is spent in the most beautiful city in the world, Brunetti realized, it is still exile.

flowed into and from one another, and then on to yet others, all of them tied in some way to the city in which they lived. Though they were Venetian, the conversation took place in Italian

Another bridge, then open water on one side. On the other was the Basilica and the Palazzo, and Brunetti had the sudden realization that, though none of this belonged to him, he belonged to all of it.

The man looked to be about the same age as Paola, though he clearly had a harder time getting there...His nose was flat, as though it had once been broken, and his eyes were sad, as though his heart had been. He looked like a stevedore who wrote poetry.

A man without a sense of fashion is a man without a soul.

We are so customed to disguise ourselves to others that, in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.

After all, the appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great.

I liked the idea of living in a city — any city, especially a strange one — liked the thought of traffic and crowds, of working in a bookstore, waiting tables in a coffee shop, who knew what kind of solitary life I might slip into? Meals alone, walking the dogs in the evenings; and nobody knowing who I was.

It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from all the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one's burned tongues and skinned knees, that one's aches and pains are all one's own. Even more terrible, as we grow older, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them...

We can't choose what we want and don't want and that's the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it's going to kill us. We can't escape who we are.

For in the deepest, most unshakable part of myself reason was useless. She was the missing kingdom, the unbruised part of myself I'd lost with my mother. Everything about her was a snowstorm of fascination

And how did they drive people mad? They turned up the volume of the inner monologue, magnified qualities already present to great excess, made people so much themselves that they couldn't stand it.

In films, we are voyeurs, but in novels, we have the experience of being someone else: knowing another person's soul from the inside. No other art form does that. And this is why sometimes, when we put down a book, we find ourselves slightly altered as human beings. Novels change us from within.

I met her my first year of college, and was initially attracted to her because she seemed an intelligent, brooding malcontent like myself; but after about a month, during which time she'd firmly glued herself to me, I began to realize, with some little horror, that she was nothing more than a lowbrow, pop-psychology version of Sylvia Plath.

After all, the appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great. To escape the cognitive mode of experience, to transcend the accident of one's moment of being.

It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from all the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one's burned tongues and skinned knees, that one's aches and pains are all one's own. Even more terrible, as we grow older, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can never truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think?

It's not about outward appearances but inward significance.