Quotes About Identity

A veritable circle jerk," Susan said. "Wow," I said, "you shrinks have a technical language all your own, don't you?" "Bet your ass," Susan said. "Do you know the identity of the third snoop?

How can a man with your heritage not be able to tap-dance." I heard Hawk's gliding chuckle. "My ancestors busy eating missionaries, boy.

Talk about not knowing other people—why, when you came right down to it, you didn't even know yourself!

And here, all along, she'd thought of herself as being so calm, so cool, so composed.

Horror is the 'removal' of masks.

El mundo entero es un escenario y cada hombre, en el momento adecuado, representa muchos papeles.

My name is Hugo. No, just Hugo. That's all they ever called me at the Home. I lived at the Home ever since I can remember, and the Sisters were very kind to me. The other children, they would not play with me because of my back and my squint but the Sister's were kind. They didn't call me "Crazy Hugo'' and make fun of me because I couldn't recite. They didn't get me in the corner and hit me and make me cry.

Talk about not knowing other people—why, when you came right down to it, you didn't even know yourself!

A man in armor is his armor's slave.

To believe ourselves worthless is a terrible and unchristian thing; and not to care that we are worthless is perhaps more woeful still.

It's not enough to have talent, you also have to be Hungarian.

Tribes, I says. They're a powerful curse laid on you when you get born. They ruin you, but you can't get away from them. They're a nightmare a body's got to live with in the day time.

Sometimes I wake up at night in a panic. Wondering: What will my life be like? And sometimes I even wonder: Who am I? What am I doing here, on this planet, in this city, in this house? And it gives me the shivers, makes me panic.

They tell you to do your thing but they don't mean it. They don't want you to do your own thing, not unless it happens to be their thing, too. It's a laugh, Goober, a fake. Don't disturb the universe, Goober, no matter what the posters say.

They tell you to do your thing but they don't mean it. They don't want you to do your thing, not unless it happens to be their thing, too. It's a laugh, a fake. Don't disturb the universe, no matter what the posters say.

Para los demás, él no era más que un nombre y un apellido. Pero Nina Citrone lo había reconocido como persona, había visto en él una amabilidad cuya existencia él mismo desconocía.

They tell you to do your thing but they don't mean it. They don't want you to do your thing, not unless it happens to be their thing, too.

Ted Kemp lived in a residential development six blocks west of the highway. The homes were small, set close, and identical, as if the developer's plan had been to cap the land with beige stucco, clay tile, and anonymity

Jon went back inside, and Googled pictures of Jacob Breslyn. He found a tall young man with a thin face, relaxed smile, and high forehead. Geeky, but growing into himself. An everyday, normal civilian. Jon

Does the Great Colinski have a first name?" "Royal. Such a name, don't you think? Royal Colinski from East L.A." The burner vibrated in my pocket, but I was learning too much to stop. "Why

You'll notice," Pike said, "that the only people in here who look like thugs are me and you." "You, maybe. I look like Don Johnson. You look like Fred Flintstone.

Michaels was an overweight guy in his early thirties with a wide butt and a hairline that hadn't seen his eyebrows in years. He had pale skin and washed-away eyes and dry lips that he continuously licked. The lips made me think he was feeling short and thinking about his next fix, but that's only because Livermore had said he was a junkie. Tre Michaels didn't look like a junkie, but then I've never met a junkie in real life who looked like Johnny Rotten.

She told herself it was the dry night wind and lashing hair, the way her eyes filled when her lonely race finished, but it was always the same whether the air was dry or not, whether her hair was down or up, so she knew. For those few minutes running across the city, she could be and was herself, purely and truly herself, finding herself in those moments only to lose herself once more when she slowed, falling behind as her true self ran free somewhere ahead in the empty night—

LeCedrick Earle was maybe an inch shorter than me, with dark glossy skin and a shaved head. He was wearing a prison-issue orange jumpsuit and Keds. I said, "That's right. I work for an attorney named Jonathan Green.