Quotes About Introspection

Cuando no sabemos a quién odiar, nos odiamos a nosotros mismos.

Por qué hago nada? —dice—. Tengo suficiente educación como para disuadirme a mí misma de hacer cualquier cosa. Para deconstruir cualquier fantasía. Para convencerme de abandonar cualquier meta. Soy tan lista que puedo negarme cualquier sueño.

Crying is right at hand in the smothering dark, closed inside someone else, when you see how everything you can ever accomplish will end up as trash. Anything you're ever proud of will be thrown away. And I'm lost inside. This is as close as I've been to sleeping in almost a week.

No sabía bien que era la vida porque no sabía con que contrastarla.

But we forget so much when we're born he says. Being born, it's as if you go inside a building. You lock yourself inside a building with no windows to see out. And after you're inside any building long enough, you forget how the outside looked. Without a mirror, you'd forget your own face.

Podrías ahogarte con tanto silencio.

Miss Rona says the only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.

Da giovani cerchiamo qualcosa che ci rallenti e ci tenga intrappolati in un posto abbastanza a lungo da poter spingere lo sguardo sotto la superficie delle cose. Questo primo disastro è una vaccinazione

Books were usually a way for her to power her own brain down and borrow someone else's for a while.

You are in love with yourself, aren't you?" He hmphed. "Someone has to be.

Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won't come in.' " Colleen's face scrunched up. "What Bible passage is that?" "It's not the Bible, it's Isaac Asimov.

Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won't come in.

There is, I assure you, a medical art for the soul. It is philosophy, whose aid need not be sought, as in bodily diseases, from outside ourselves. We must endeavor with all our resources and all our strength to become capable of doctoring ourselves.

It is useless to know what shall come to pass; it is a miserable thing to be tormented to no purpose.

A book is a suicide postponed.

Dê uma boa olhada nas suas escolhas antes de culpar metade do mundo pelos seus erros.

who having learnt the art of self-tormenting, are diligently and zealously employed in creating an imaginary world, which they can never inhabit, only to make the real world, with which they must necessarily be conversant, gloomy and insupportable.

Was this what it meant to grow up, this vast loneliness?

And it explains much about me, too, about the limits of my experience, about the fact that the person I am in my head is so far from the person I am in the world. Nobody would know me from my own description of myself.

who I am in my head, very few people really get to see that. Almost none. It's the most precious gift I can give, to bring her out of hiding. Maybe I've learned it's a mistake to reveal her at all.

Her self, then, was represented in her books.

It's the strangest thing about being human: to know so much, to communicate so much, and yet always to fall so drastically short of clarity, to be, in the end, so isolate and inadequate. Even when people try to say things, they say them poorly, or obliquely, or they outright lie, sometimes because they're lying to you, but as often because they're lying to themselves.

The apartment was entirely, was only, for her; a wall of books, both read and unread, all of them dear to her not only in themselves, their tender spines, but in the moments or periods they evoked. She had kept some books...which suggested to her that she was, or might be, a person of seriousness, a thinker in some seeping, ubiquitous way; and she had kept, too, a handful of children's books...that conjured for her an earlier, passionately earnest self.

it took me a long time to realize that she, too, was cautious and bourgeois, frightened of the unknown and so uncertain of herself that she could hardly bear to make a mark.