Quotes About Identity

If Rabbit knew a way to clone an adult sized vagina, Rabbit would clone it, have sex with it, then clone an arm to the side of that vagina so he could carry it with him everywhere he went like a big, fuzzy key chain.

You are still you. The U.S. is still the U.S., held together by credit cards and Indian names

Which witch is which?

You are all of twenty and very much feeling your womanhood. The strange thing about womanhood is that it goes on and on--the same daily burden of constant vague expectation and of everything being just slightly disappointing compared with what one knows one has inside oneself waiting to be touched off. It's rather like being a set of pretty little logs that won't quite catch fire, isn't it?

Nadie nos pertenece, salvo en el recuerdo.

Sad business, being a Negro man, always underpaid, their eyes don't look like our eyes, bloodshot, brown, liquid in them about to quiver out. Read somewhere some anthropologist thinks Negroes instead of being more primitive are the latest thing to evolve, the newest man.

be what you are. Don't try to be Sally or Johnny or Fred next door; be yourself.

Weeds don't know they're weeds.

But it was my way of becoming a human being, and part of being human is being on the verge of disgrace.

He sounds to himself, saying this, like an impersonator; life, just as we first thought, is playing grownup.

You were never in Texas," she says.He remembers the house on that strange treeless residential street, the green night growing up from the prairie, the flowers in the window, and says, "Absolutely I was.""Doing what?""Serving Uncle.""Oh, in the Army; well that doesn't count. Everybody's been to Texas with the Army.""You order whatever you think is good," Rabbit tells Tothero.

Soportó la maternidad, el club-jardín y los cócteles. Compartió el café de la mañana con la mujer de la limpieza y el coñac de medianoche con su marido, confundiendo la lujuria de borracho con la reconciliación. El mundo crecía a su alrededor: hijo tras hijo surgieron de entre sus piernas [...] Ella alimentaba al mundo pero no era alimentada por él

Don't read your reviews, A*M*E*R*I*C*A: you are the only land.

Not until midlife did she truly believe that she had a right to exist, that the forces of nature had created her not as an afterthought and companion - a bent rib, as the infamous Malleus Maleficarum had it - but as the mainstay of the continuing Creation, as the daughter of a daughter and a woman whose daughters in turn would bear daughters.

He had thought, he had read, that from shore to shore all America was the same. He wonders, Is it just these people I'm outside or is it all America?

There's a prison there, too, which always makes me feel included.

I'm recognized in public about 80 percent of the time across this country, but during the other 20 percent when I'm not, I get pissed when I realize how shabbily other people must be treated every day. When store clerks or airline reps do suddenly recognize me and get nice after being grumpy when they didn't know who I was, I get testy right back.

Once I climb in, will they believe it's me even if they know who I am, or think I'm just a John Waters impersonator? Which I am in a way every day Ã¢â'¬Â¦ only older.

I look out through the eyeholes and feel exactly the way Michael Jackson's son Blanket must have felt

Nothing shouts midlife crisis louder than driving a convertible.

It wasn't until I started reading and found books they wouldn't let us read in school that I discovered you could be insane and happy and have a good life without being like everybody else

You must remember what you are and what you have chosen to become, and the significance of what you are doing. There are wars and defeats and victories of the human race that are not military and that are not recorded in the annals of history. Remember that while you're trying to decide what to do.

We are many, but are we much?

Be true to yourself. Make each day a masterpiece.