Quotes About Reflection

I have this thing in my brain that I just wish I lived in a different time era. And I think that's honestly just because of social media and everything, like phones and the whole shebang. I feel like relationships are more superficial.

Thinking has become a superfluous exercise... purely internal, without compelling force, more or less a game.

Art is a mind-game that we do to make our lives easier. If it isn't for that, it becomes superfluous.

A superhero represents infinite possibility. It represents the peak of aspiration and courage. And if you see yourself reflected as a superhero, you will give yourself permission to dream anything.

A person isn't who they are during the last conversation you had with them - they're who they've been throughout your whole relationship.

Don't be too quick to draw conclusions from what happens to you; simply let it happen. Otherwise it will be too easy for you to look with blame... at your past, which naturally has a share with everything that now meets you.

Embrace your solitude and love it. Endure the pain it causes, and try to sing out with it. For those near to you are distant...

If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow

The necessary thing is after all but this; solitude, great inner solitude. Going into oneself for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain.

But your solitude will be a support and a home for you, even in the midst of very unfamiliar circumstances, and from it you will find all your paths.

Think... of the world you carry within you.

I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood.

Keep growing quietly and seriously throughout your whole development; you cannot disturb it more rudely than by looking outward and expecting from outside replies to questions that only your inmost feeling in your most hushed hour can perhaps answer.

In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?

there is only one solitude, and it is vast, heavy, difficult to bear, and almost everyone has hours when he would gladly exchange it for any kind of sociability, however trivial or cheap, for the tiniest outward agreement with the first person who comes along....

And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it.

If no one else, the dying must notice how unreal, how full of pretense, is all that we accomplish here, where nothing is allowed to be itself.

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads Of her life, and weaves them gratefully Into a single cloth – It's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall And clears it for a different celebration.

Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, seperate, in the evening.

Look: the trees exist; the houses we dwell in stand there stalwartly. Only we pass by it all, like a rush of air. And everything conspires to keep quiet about us, half out of shame perhaps, half out of some secret hope.

Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.

No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write, find out wether it spreading out its root in the deepest places of your heart...Delve into yourself for a deep answer

Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.

My life is not this steeply sloping hour, in which you see me hurrying. Much stands behind me; I stand before it like a tree; I am only one of my many mouths, and at that, the one that will be still the soonest. I am the rest between two notes, which are somehow always in discord because Death's note wants to climb over— but in the dark interval, reconciled, they stay there trembling. And the song goes on, beautiful.