Quotes About Introspection

I want to seize my is. And like a bird I sing hallelujah into the air. And my song belongs to no one. But no passion suffered in pain and love is not followed by an hallelujah.

Never again shall I understand anything I say. Since how could I speak without the word lying for me? How could I speak except timidly like this: life just is for me. Life just is for me, and I don't understand what I'm saying. And so I adore it.

There are truths I haven't even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys.

Sometimes writing a single line is enough to save your own heart.

It is curious that I can't say who I am. That is to say, I know it all too well, but I can't say it.

Would it be simplistic to think the moral problem with regards to others consists in behaving as one ought to, and the moral problem with regards to oneself is managing to feel what one ought to?

I'm no more than a comma in life. I who am a colon. Thou, thou art my exclamation.

The difference between the insane and the not-insane person is that the latter doesn't do or say the things he thinks.

Real life is so secret that not even I, who am dying of it, have been given the password, I am dying without knowing of what.

I don't know what my secret is. Tell me about yours, teach me about the secret of each one of us.

Not knowing yourself is inevitable, and not knowing yourself demands courage.

La consuelo haciéndole entender que también yo padezco la vasta e informe melancolía de haber sido creado.

Death is an encounter with oneself.

These fragments of book mean that I work in ruins.

What I really do when I write you is follow myself, and I'm doing it right now: I'm following myself without knowing what it will lead me to. Sometimes following myself is so hard. Because of following something that's still so nebulous. Sometimes I end up stopping.

Clarice Lispector

I ask: will she ever someday know love's farewell? Will she ever someday know the swoonings of love? Will she take in her own way the sweet journey? I know nothing. What can you do with the truth that everyone's a little sad and a little alone.

And my fear, too, was different now: not the fear of someone who is still about to go in but the so much greater fear of someone who has gone in.

Who hasn't ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

When I surprise myself at the mirror I am not frightened because I think I am ugly or beautiful. It is because I discover I am of a different nature. After not having seen myself for a while I almost forget I am human, I forget my past and I am as free from end and awareness as something merely alive. I am also surprised, eyes open pale at the mirror, that there are so many things in me besides what I know, so many things always silent.

I feel as though I've already achieved what I wanted and I still don't know what I achieved. Could that be the somewhat dubious and elusive thing vaguely called 'experience'?

Sou um monstro ou isso é ser uma pessoa?

É que ela sentia falta de encontrar-se consigo mesma e sofrer um pouco é um encontro.

Only then did she see that her life was miserable. She felt like crying when she saw her other side, she who, as I said, had always thought she was happy.