Quotes About Introspection

As far as I was concerned, either I was a homosexual or I wasn't, so making films would change nothing.

Someone, and no matter who, inhabits my head like it's an empty house, he enters, he leaves, he bangs each door behind him, powerless I put up with this ruckus. Someone, and maybe it's me, palms my most private thoughts, he crumples them, returns them to dust. Someone, and it's much later now, slowly walks across the room and, not seeing me, stops to contemplate the havoc. Someone, and no matter where, collects the pieces of my shadow.

I hate travelling and explorers. Yet here I am proposing to tell the story of my expeditions.

But I'm exhausted, finally, by this mob within me that keeps me from being myself. I suppose one feels the need to be alone in order to grow old and die.

First signs of the age when wisdom begins? There are moments when my past makes me ashamed. When I'm embarrassed to have taken so much while giving so little.

I know the dark delight of being strange, The penalty of difference in the crowd, The loneliness of wisdom among fools...

No one but myself knows the anxiety I go through and the trouble I give myself…

I don't think I'm made for any earthly kind of pleasure.

When you find out that everything about your reality is just an illusion, it's hard not to completely shut down.

La soledad es un estado interior que puede practicarse, incluso, estando con otra gente, cree.

Ser un solitario es algo constitutivo, una forma de ser, algo que no suele cambiar con el paso del tiempo ni con que se llene la casa de gente.

Por qué tanta gente cree que su vida es única y yo creo que la mía es igual a la de cualquiera?

Creo que cada uno de nosotros llega a la verdad que puede tolerar. Y, parado allí, no se atreve a dar otro paso. Es un límite que pone nuestro propio instinto de conservación.

Y a veces la gente demasiado sensible camina por una cornisa muy fina entre la realidad y sus pensamientos.

life will test us. For real, not a dress rehearsal. And on that day we will finally realise that we are all alone, forced to face ourselves, with no lies left to cling to.

Elena no siente orgullo, siente otra cosa, tampoco pena, ni bronca, siente un sentimiento que no sabe qué nombre tiene, eso que uno siente cuando se descubre tonto.

Para escribir un diario hay que tener una seguridad del valor que tiene contar la vida propia que yo no tengo.

I)n memory, remorse wraps the self.

Leaving the day to itself, you close the door behind you and pour a bowl of cereal, then another, and would a third if you didn't interrupt yourself with the statement - you aren't hungry. Appetite won't attach you to anything no matter how depleted you feel.

Hold up, did you just hear, did you just say, did you just see, did you just do that? Then the voice in your head silently tells you to take your foot off your throat because just getting along shouldn't be an ambition.

You take in things you don't want all the time. The second you hear or see some ordinary moment, all its intended targets, all the meanings behind the retreating seconds, as far as you are able to see, come into focus. Hold up, did you just hear, did you just say, did you just see, did you just do that? Then the voice in your head silently tells you to take your foot off your throat because just getting along shouldn't be an ambition.

What is wrong with you? This question gets stuck in your dreams.

The world is wrong. You can't put the past behind you. It's buried in you; it's turned your flesh into its own cupboard

Enter the title) "...It takes a personal question (or moment of doubt could be another way of thinking about it) and interrogates lines of inquiry surrounding that question, historically and psychologically. After a while the answer is known but it no longer matters because the expanding life of the question is what keeps us reading. This is the kind of book that demands I slow down the closer I get to its end, preparing myself for the loss of the speaker in my world.