Quotes About Introspection

I take it back." 'But the thing was: She didn't sound certain. I let her take it back anyway. The only problem was taking something back? It's still inside there somewhere.

When no one else is around, we open ourselves to the quieter astonishments that enormity can offer.

Answerless questions can destroy you.

Its hard for her. Every answer starts with the phrase I don't know. But most of the time she does know...

I wondered if this was how you'd felt. I wondered if I was making myself feel how you'd felt. I knew it wasn't a choice. It was just what my mind was doing. Although I could've been fighting it more.

The sound of the words as they're said is always different from the sound they make when they're heard, because the speaker hears some of the sound from the inside

What are you thinking, Evan? So I told him. Every you, every me. Fractals. Fracturs. I wonder who she is now, I said. So do I, Jack admitted. All the time.

I'd been hurt, yes—but I'd never meant to become hurtful. I didn't want to close down anyone but myself.

How genius to call them thumbnails, because what part of the body tells us less?

The proper verb for depression is sink.

Why is it so much easier to talk to a stranger? Why do we feel we need that disconnect in order to connect?

The part I enjoy most is not the doing, but the noticing. Noticing the way she smells like oversugared coffee, and the difference between her smile and her photographed smile, and the way she bites her lower lip, and the pale skin of her back. I just want the pleasure of noticing these things at a safe distance-I don't want to have to acknowledge I am noticing.

I'd like to remain at that one delicate remove, so you can get to know me without the distraction of other people's noise.

The air feels cleaner because when the world is below we allow ourselves to breathe fully. When no one else is around, we open ourselves to the quieter astonishments that enormity can offer.

There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you're in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself. If the moment doesn't pass, that's it -- you're done. And if the moment does pass, it never goes that far. It stands in the distance, ready for whenever you want it back. Sometimes it's even there when you thought you were searching for something else, like an escape route, or your lover's face.

I fear you may have outmatched me, because now I find these words have nowhere to go. It's hard to answer a question you haven't been asked. It's hard to show that you tried unless you end up succeeding.

Be careful what you're doing, because no one is ever who you want them to be. And the less you really know them, the more likely you are to confuse them with the person inside your head.

They have left the first stage of romance—the rhapsody of us. Where everything is you-me or me-you or a giddily tentative we. Now him and her are asserting themselves, each given a private, pensive depth. Within the rhapsody of us, Elijah could think, I don't really know you, but I will. Now he is not so sure.

Living within the definition of his own truth, just like me. He knows who he wants to be. Most people our age don't have to do that. They stay within the realm of the easy. If you want to live within the definition of your own truth, you have to choose to go through the initially painful and ultimately comforting process of finding it.

I got confused between what I wanted to happen and what I should have known would happen. I've been doing that a lot lately. I know it's not helpful.

i feel that if my soul could talk it would talk like this

i would give anything to not have to spend the next twenty minutes sitting across from her, because she doesn't believe in letting silence go. no, she has to fill it up with talk. i want to tell her that's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through all the silent parts, but she doesn't want to be with her thoughts unless she's saying them out loud.

The only thing I am allowed, the only thing I am given, is myself. It is enough, but only barely.

You can tell a lot about a person from the pages he or she chooses to journal on.