Quotes About Identity

Design is the silent ambassador of your brand."-Paul Rand 6/3/17

In some cultures they don't name their babies right away. They wait until they see how the child develops. Like in Dances with Wolves. Unfortunately, our kids' names would be less romantic and poetic. "This is my oldest boy, Falls off His Tricycle, his friend, Dribbles His Juice, and my beautiful daughter, Allergic to Nuts."

My father was a slave, and my people died to build this country, and I'm going to stay right here and have a part of it, just like you. And no fascist-minded people like you will drive me from it. Is that clear?

Dysmorphia is when someone looks in the mirror, and sees something else. While I studied my own whatever I was, I decided that maybe everyone has at least a touch of dysmorphia; maybe it's impossible for anyone to ever truly know what they look like.

Nightlife is not for sissies, except of course for career sissies; an evening out requires at least a full day of minute preparation. . . . People move to New York to invent themselves, and nightclubs provide a runway for the results. It's easy to spend twenty hours per day slaving in a Pennsylvania coal mine or threshing some Nebraska oat crop; going out in New York is work.

Whenever I stumble over my own feet, or blurt out a thought that makes no sense at all, or leave the house wearing one pattern too many, I always think, It's okay, I'm from New Jersey. I love New Jersey, because it's not just an all-purpose punch line, but probably a handy legal defense, as in, "Yes, I shot my wife because I thought she was Bigfoot, but I'm from New Jersey.

Just from Farrell stalking away I was absorbing so much, including the fact that at any given moment in history, and excluding nurses and brides, there are only at most three people on the planet who can get away with wearing all white, and Farrell was at least two of them.

being gay is a fantastic idea.

I am not!" said the guy's girlfriend, who was wearing a very short skirt, very high heels and the kind of complicated hairstyle that looks like it needs blueprints and a construction crew.

So many gay plotlines revolve around a traumatic coming out, with an evangelical dad intoning, "I have no son!

Is that racist – I mean, to be attracted to a type? Probably, but what you want is what you want, right? Your dick doesn't know fuck about political correctness, even if the rest of you is pretty well-versed.

If you're going to fall for men, or boys, then deal with the fact that you're going to be an outcast. It's not for the faint of heart, it's not for anybody hoping to be liked or respected or accepted or any of that bullshit.

Fuck it. All she thinks about these days is whether something'll get her into trouble. Who cares? There was certainly a time when she didn't: and she was a better person then.

He had had an inkling, even then, that only by losing himself, the well-behaved Connecticut boy he'd always been, might he ever hope to find his other, truer self.

Anybody can be anybody, he told himself as he eased his body down onto Devin's, the blunt pain of a beautiful pleasure wedging him open.

I am a murderer. I simply have not yet murdered. But I will, given time. The good in me is draining away into the dark hole in my center. My soul is broken. I am broken. I am my father's son.

You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talkin' to? You talkin' to me? Well I'm the only one here.

English people are not mass-produced. They do not come off a factory line all looking, speaking, thinking, acting the same. Neither do we.

An emigration is possibly the loneliest experience a man can suffer. In a way it is not a country he has lost but a home, or even just a part of a home, a room perhaps, or something in that room that he has had to leave behind, and which haunts him. I remember a window-seat I used to sit in as a youth, reading Pushkin and teaching myself to smoke scented cigarettes. That window is one I am always knocking at, asking to be let in.

The permutations of English corruption in India were endless

If you'll be my bodyguardI can be your long lost pal,I can call you Bettyand, Betty, when you call meYou can call me Al.

At the end of the day "Love Guns" wasn't about guns--I was just singing about my dick.

One night on the road just after Alive! came out, a woman and I were lying under the sheets in a hotel bed. She turned to me, puzzled, and said, "My boyfriend told me you were gay." "Well, I guess that didn't work," I said. "Because it didn't keep you away.

So much had changed in the intervening years. So much had been lost. Tents had been replaced with concrete and mud-brick, camels with 4x4s, nomadic freedom with taxes and identity cards and paperwork and all manner of bureaucratic restrictions. For all that they remained Bedouin at heart, desert dwellers and desert travellers, and they had only to come out here for a few hours to remind themselves of the fact, to reconnect with their illustrious heritage.