Quotes About Introspection

The whole thing of what I've been trying," you said, "is that you're different, and you keep asking about the other girls, but what I mean is that I don't think about them, because of the way you are.

I looked for a scrape in my reflection and then, meeting my own eyes, stood for a sec and tried to figure, like all girls in all mirrors everywhere, the difference between lover and slut.

A note, who writes a note like that? Who were you to write one to me? it boomed inside me the whole time, an explosion over and over, the joy of what you wrote to me jumpy shrapnel in my bloodstream. I can't have it near me anymore, I'm grenading it back to you, as soon as I unfold it and read it and cry one more time. Because me too, and fuck you. Even now.

I'm nothing, not a single thing. The only particle I had, the only tiny thing raising me up, is that I was Ed Slaterton's girlfriend, loved by you for like ten secs, and who cares, so what, and not anymore so how embarrassing for me.

It's one thing for forgive yourself a mistake. But if you knew it was a mistake at the time, how do you forgive yourself then?

I wasn't just a fuck to them, any of them probably, is what I'm seeing. For every girl I thought I was uncomplicated sex, it wasn't. Put it this way: if you can't see the complication, you're probably it.

Descubrí el reverso de la servilleta demasiado tarde, no cuando llegué a casa, ni cuando la guardé en la caja, sino cuando tenía el corazón destrozado y lloroso, cuando ya no era cierto.

I'm alone. There's a poem in that, but I don't want to write it. I don't want to be someone who spends Saturday night alone at home, writing poems about being alone.

I thought it was one thing but it was the other, it was zero zero zero alone on the bus while you slept in the room I had to leave, and that's why we broke up.

Dammit, Flora, why do you always ruin everything? A prophetic remark. I hope you picked up on that.

A girl meets a boy, Ed, and everything changes, or so she says. She walks down the streets and the storefronts look the same, even as we linger on their flickering reflections. The cars move quickly, slowly, quickly down the block. She gets coffee and says it tastes different, quitely, to herself.

Most of those people won't meet my eyes, now, but I'm not one of them. Every morning I get up, and while brushing my teeth, look at my showered self, calmly foaming at the mouth.

It's one thing to forgive yourself a mistake. But if you knew it was a mistake at the time, how do you forgive yourself then?

He had seen himself naked and so had quite a few other people, although some of them do not remember.

You are more likely to learn something by finding surprises in your own behavior than by hearing surprising facts about people in general.

The premise of this book is that it is easier to recognize other people's mistakes than our own.

The answer can't be found in books - or be solved by bringing it to other people. Not unless you want to remain a child all your life. You've got to find the answer inside you - feel the right thing to do. Charlie, you've got to learn to trust yourself

I'm like a man who's been half-asleep all his life, trying to find out what he was like before he woke up.

But the deeper I get tangled up in this mass of dreams and memories the more I realize that emotional problems can't be solved as intellectual problems are.

I started out the evening with every intention of being pleasant and making friends. But these days I have trouble getting through to people. I don't know if it's me or them, but any attempt at conversation usually fades away in a minute or two, and the barriers go up. Is it because they are afraid of me? Or is it that deep down they don't care and I feel the same about them?

But with the freedom came a sadness.

Solitude gives me a chance to read and think, and now that the memories are coming through again - to rediscover my past, to find out who and what I really am. If anything should go wrong, I'll have at least that.

Slowly, as waves recede, my expanding spirit shrinks back into earthly dimensions -- not voluntarily, because I would prefer to lose myself, but I am pulled from below, back to myself, into myself, so that for just one moment I am on the couch again, fitting the fingers of my awareness into the glove of my flesh. And I know I can move this finger or wink that eye -- if I want to. But I don't want to move. I will not move!

Only a short time ago, I learned that people laughed at me. Now I can see that unknowingly I joined them in laughing at myself. That hurts most of all.