Quotes About Introspection

el problema de vivir más allá de tu mejor tiempo vital, más allá del punto en que la vida ya no reporta alegría, sino tan sólo desilusión y sucesos horribles.

he thought he probably wouldn't have sex again before he died. Probably. Possibly. Unless. But on balance, he thought not. Sex involved two people. Two persons, first person and second person: you and I, you and me. But nowadays, the raucousness of the first person within him was stilled. It was as if he viewed, and lived, his life in the third person. Which allowed him to assess it more accurately, he believed.

The next day, all that stopped him from feeling pure exultance was the question: had it been too easy?

It seems to me that when you are young, you think about sex most of the time, but you don't reflect on it much

But here's the first problem. If this is your only story, then it's the one you have most often told and retold, even if—as is the case here—mainly to yourself. The question then is: Do all these retellings bring you closer to the truth of what happened, or move you further away? I'm not sure.

This intrigued me much more. Simple, plangent words. What had I said about the voyeur inside me?

Which are truer, the happy memories, or the unhappy ones? He decided, eventually, that the question was unanswerable.

khi ta tr? và nh?y c?m, cÅ©ng là lúc ta hay Ä'i gieo Ä'au Ä'á»›n nh?t

But I was wrong about most things, then as now.

I often wondered about Nigel, and why things seemed so much clearer to him. Was it more, or less, intelligence; more, or less, imagination; or simply a more stable personality?

I considered ducking the appointment, but eventually decided to let the heart speak, and rolled up. I had, after all, spent three days wondering what it would be like to be married to her. In fact, I'd thought about Annick so much that I couldn't remember what she looked like. It was like putting layer after layer of papier mâché over an object and gradually seeing the original shape disappear. How terrible if I failed to recognise the woman I'd already been married to for three days.

Well, in one sense, I can't know what it is that I don't know. That's philosophically selfevident." He left one of those slight pauses in which we again wondered if he was engaged in subtle mockery or a high seriousness beyond the rest of us.

she realized she felt happy, as if the sensation were so lost to her that it took a while for her to identify it.

The very reason we need logic at all is because most reasoning is not conscious at all.

Julian Thompson

It was the brightest entry into darkness.

How do you know me? she says. He looks at her through his narrow eyes. I was, he says. You were what? she asks. I was, he says again. And now I'm not.

She feels a great pang of loss, an unexpected welling of sorrow mixed with confusion.

It's not the first time in his life he's felt like a man.

I don't know you. That's the problem.

She charmed and sparkled and said witty things, but she knew very well she was being charming and sparkling and witty while she was doing it, which somehow felt wrong.

Something was stirring in him, though; a bud of comprehension that could very well bloom into forgiveness if left unchecked.

the biggest lie people tell themselves is that they prefer to know the truth.

They regarded each other somberly, making internal adjustments to accommodate the mere glorious fact of each other.