Quotes About Reflection

Being a grand-kid, you can so easily regress. All the ages you ever were are all recalled by the grandparent in a shimmery love-haze, like those blurred faces on tv, in which identities have been disguised.

The hard part of humanity is history. All that's been done to human beings by other human beings. In the Rocky River Nature Preserve you didn't have to think of such things.

You can think of your life as the mistakes you made that catch up with you finally.

I am infatuated with the private life, and with anonymity; perhaps even invisibility.

that I—I have not 'heard' . . . What is it?

How alone this was going to be.

Remembering backward is the easy thing. If you could remember forward, you could save yourself…

Lionel turned his thoughts eagerly inward, to discover that inward was perilous, too; his soul was a sort of curved reflective surface that distorts, as in a funhouse mirror, the face of one peering into it. You might be anyone, any face. The face is mere skin. Accident. He seemed at such times to be approaching a profound yet unspeakable truth: that our identities are accidents.

There's a sort of melancholy romance to the experience of being lonesome. I think of reading as a kind of romantic alone activity that you're doing. The image would include being curled up somewhere on a rainy day and you're reading very intensely involved in a world that no one can see because it's inside your head.

Living's immediacy, you go full sail, you're in a fever of motion. Until it's safe and past and done and dead and you can say, like waking from a dream, Yes I was happy then, yes now it's all over I can see I was happy then. Maybe that's the advantage of dying?

Much of the time he lay part-dressed on his bed, sipping gin, and thinking, and thinking, - though what it was, of which he thought, he seemed not to know.

All that crap was like living your life with your face pressed up close against a mirror, you couldn't see your own face let alone anything surrounding it.

we're sick of ourselves.

happened to you! what happened

First thing is when your on Death Row long enough you don't ask WHO AM I because you have learnt nobody would be there anyway.

For the past few days, she had been praying and meditating upon what to do and she had decided she must do nothing, for it was she who had made the mistake and not the boy and she must not bear witness against him.

You don't have to understand why anything that has happened to you has happened nor do you even have to understand what it is that has happened. You have only to live with the remains. A

Sunny wintry days. The idyll of (inner) loneliness. What am I going to do with my life?

Della riendo, diciendo entre jadeos: «¿De qué vale ser una perdida y una puta si a los treinta años no tienes nada?». Y a Norma Jeane le faltaban

I am snatching at things to prove my life.

I broke a mirror and the pieces floated to China Goodbye!

My crappy-kid's life. It was mostly a shitty life wasn't it, OK but I miss it.

No se puede ejercer la memoria hasta que uno se ha retirado de la fuente del recuerdo.

so perhaps nothing was wrong.