Quotes About Introspection

She too wants me to catch hold of her, he thought. That's why she came with me to the tram. I could easily catch hold of her when she comes up to my step: nobody is looking. I could hold her and kiss her. But he did neither: and, when he was sitting alone in the deserted tram, he tore his ticket into shreds and stared gloomily at the corrugated footboard.

bowl of bitter waters.

The ambition which he felt astir in at times in the darkness of his soul sought no outlet.

I have a deep, deep wound of doubt in my soul... And now I am tired for a while, Berta. My wound tires me.

I have a deep, deep wound of doubt in my soul... And now I am tired for a while, Bertha. My wound tires me.

Was she sincere? Had she really any life of her own behind all her propagandism?

But when he had sung his song and withdrawn into a snug corner of the room he began to taste the joy of his loneliness.

Dinle! O iç burkucu bungunluk çöktü. Dinle!-Akl?n ya da gövdenin böylesine eylemlerine saÄŸl?ks?z denebileceÄŸine inanm?yorum.- KonuÅŸuyor o. SoÄŸuk y?ld?zlar?n ötesinden gelen c?l?z bir ses. SaÄŸduyunun sesi. KonuÅŸ bakal?m! Aman,konuÅŸ yine,ayd?nlat beni!Bu sesi hiç duymam??t?m.

The ambition which he felt astir at times in the darkness of soul sought no outlet

As you sing it it's a study. That letter selfpenned to one's other, that neverperfect everplanned?

he began to taste the joy of his loneliness.

It is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time.

He chronicled with patience what he saw, detaching himself from it and tasting its mortifying flavor in secret

I used to think there was something up with any female that liked me, I mean, if she didni get bored with my company, there had to be something up with her. Otherwise how come she wasni with somebody else? If she was normal she would be. Ergo she had to have a personality problem.

You could see into your own soul with total honesty of vision and find the wherewithal to get it down, that steady hand.

I found it difficult to look at him at that moment.

The wind smelled of humus, lichen, the musky odor of pecan husks broken under the shoe, a sunshower on the fields across the bayou. But any poetry that might have been contained in that moment was lost when I stared into Honoria's face, convinced that human insanity was as close to our fingertips as the act of rubbing fog off a window pane.

But everyone has a private cathedral that he earns, a special place to which he returns when the world is too much late and soon, and loss and despair come with the rising of the sun.

Through the screen, he could smell the evening as though it were a living presence, the purple and yellow flowers in his yard and the dark green wetness of the fescue part of a song that was never supposed to die. Except he could feel things ending, coming apart at the center, and he didn't know why.

there were times when you are very alone in the world and your own thoughts flay your skin an inch at a time.

I told myself I did not have to live as I once did. I did not have to re-create the violent moments that used to come aborning like a sulfurous match flaring off a thumbnail.

Pretty damn boring to be a spectator in your own life.

At four-twenty every morning I wake and have no idea where or who I am.

Why don't you try to make me feel bad?