Quotes About Introspection

a woman writing thinks back through her mothers.

A wet day. And I am glad of the rain, because I have talked too much.

I am growing up,' she thought, taking her taper. 'I am losing my illusions, perhaps to acquire new ones

We saw for a moment laid out among us the body of the complete human being whom we have failed to be, but at the same time, cannot forget.

shadows of people one might have been; unborn selves.

How little, after all, one can tell anybody about one's life! Here I sit; there you sit; both, I doubt not, chock-full of the most interesting experiences, ideas, emotions; yet how communicate?

Gli occhi degli altri sono le nostre prigioni, i loro pensieri le nostre gabbie.

And there is a dignity in people; a solitude; even between husband and wife a gulf; and that one must respect, thought Clarissa, watching him open the door; for one would not part with it oneself, or take it, against his will, from one's husband, without losing one's independence, one's self-respect—something, after all, priceless.

I have felt that odd whirr of wings in the head.

Comprobó con asombro que era un enorme alivio estar sola.

In other words, now that she had rid herself of falsehood, that young woman had only to be herself. Ah, but what is herself? I mean, what is a woman? I assure you, I do not know, I do not believe that you know.

There was something solemn in it- but love and religion would destroy that, whatever it was, the privacy of the soul.

How terrible old age was, she thought; shearing off all one's faculties, one by one, but leaving something alive in the centre.

I can't tell you how piercingly and endlessly I think about you.

Where does she begin, and where do I end? she thought... On they drove. They were two living people, driving across London; two sparks of life enclosed in two separate bodies; and those sparks of life enclosed in two separate bodies are at this moment, she thought, driving past a picture palace. But what is this moment; and what are we?

In the glass she wore an expression of tense melancholy, for she had come to the depressing conclusion, since the arrival of the Dalloways, that her face was not the face she wanted, and in all probability never would be.

When I rummage in my own mind I find no noble sentiments about being companions and equals and influencing the world to higher ends. I find myself saying briefly and prosaically that it is much more important to be oneself than anything else.

Talk of solitude (...). It is the last resort of the civilised: our souls are so creased and soured in meaning we can only unfold them when we are alone. (5/4/1927 - From a Letter to Vita Sackville-West)

De... de... miért érzi magát, anélkül, hogy okát tudná adni, hirtelen ilyen kétségbeejtÅ'en boldogtalannak?

He became engaged one evening when the panic was on him—that he could not feel.

The weekly creak and screech of brains rinsed in cold water and wrung dry

Magában lehet, egyedül. S mostanában erre gyakran van szüksége - hogy gondolkozzék. Hogy ne kelljen beszélnie, egyedül legyen. Az egész lét, minden, amit teszünk, dallamos, ragyogó, lelkesítÅ', elillan, s ünnepélyes érzéssel önmagunkká, legigazibb lényünkké zsugorodunk, a sötétség ék alakú, mások számára láthatatlan magvává.

What then? Who then?' she said. 'Thirty-six; in a motor car; a woman. Yes, but a million other things as well.

Mi az élet értelme? Ez volt az egész - ez az egyszer? kérdés, mely a múló évekkel egyre jobban bekeríti az embert. A nagy kinyilatkoztatás nem jött még el soha. A nagy kinyilatkoztatás talán nem jön el már soha.