Quotes About Identity

give their employees wacky titles of their own choosing.

if you give them the opportunity to create a three-dimensional identity for themselves, you might find aspects of them that you actually enjoy or admire—or at least defensible justification for why they are the way they are.

Knowing yourself is probably the hardest job in the world.

his biggest problem was his need for a problem.

I know who you are. I love you. I love everything about you that hurts.

We pimp our precious lives to the infernal gnashing babble - Follow me! Friend me! Like me! But don't ever know me.

Hello there dandelions, fuck off! Chop go the heads with a cut of the stick excuse me just what do you think you're doing clip clip chop chop aaargh! what the fuck is going on where's our heads? Hee-yup!, I said and away again.

Mary had the same face as ma used to have sitting staring into the ashes it was funny that face it slowly grew over the other one until one day you looked and the person you knew was gone. And instead there was a half-ghost sitting there who had only one thing to say: All the beautiful things of this world are lies. They count for nothing in the end.

The I is a concept that resists its own nullity as if life depended upon it.

The prism through which the world shows itself to me is mine.

Many people strike upon a bodily image and plump for it. This is arguably the worst mistake possible.

The I is such that it can assert itself, absolve itself, undergo countless permutations.

We see nobody clearly. We see only the ghosts of absent others, and mistake for reality the fictions we construct from blueprints drawn up in early childhood. This is the problem.

Aucune folie n'est assez profonde pour vous exclure de la communauté des fumeurs.

Lots of people perish on the highways. All those faces should be preserved, engagements kept, promises upheld. Impossible. I walked out instantly. Fleeing the scene of a crime. That kind of game can destroy you. Anyway, I've never known who I was. I authorize my biographer to simply call me "a man," and I wish him luck. I've been unable to lengthen my stride, my breath, or my sentences. He won't understand the first thing about this story. Neither do I. We're even.

Do you often wear this dress?" He pointed to the black satin dress with the two yellow swallows. "I found it here when I rented the room. It must have belonged to the previous lodger." "Or perhaps to you, in an earlier life."

Je pense à Dora Bruder. Je me dis que sa fugue n'était pas aussi simple que la mienne une vingtaine d'années plus tard, dans un monde redevenu inoffensif. Cette ville de décembre 1941, son couvre-feu, ses soldats, sa police, tout lui était hostile et voulait sa perte. A seize ans, elle avait le monde entier contre elle, sans qu'elle sache pourquoi.

Je n'étais vraiment moi–même qu'à l'instant où je m'enfuyais. Mes seuls bons souvenirs sont des souvenirs de fuite ou de fugue.

The letters dance before my eyes. Who am I?

The other day, I happened to walk through it. I had a strange sensation. Not that time had passed, but that another me, a twin, was prowling around there -- down to the smallest detail, and until the end of time -- through what I had experienced over a very short period.

No. She told me she was going to marry him, to get French nationality . . . She was obsessed with getting a nationality...

Quelle délivrance tandis que tous ces mots sortaient de ma bouche… Une partie de ma vie s'achevait, une vie qui m'avait été imposée. Désormais, ce serait moi qui déciderais de mon sort.

How much longer would we go on being old young people? They waved goodbye to me. I was moved by Annette. She and I were exactly the same age, and she'd become one of those slightly faded Danish beauties who used to attract me when I was twenty. They were older than I was at that time, and I was grateful for their tender protection.

He no longer knew which man he was. He told me that after a certain number of years, we accept a truth that we've intuited but kept hidden from ourselves, out of carelessness or cowardice: a brother, a double died in our stead on an unknown date and in an unknown place, and his shadow ends up merging with us.