Quotes About Introspection

Interesting how the self can be split into segments, orgasm and observation at the same time, the eye that watches the I. Neither is me, but both might be.

When the girl herself is absent, the room is like a blank page, almost no marks or clues to say anything about her, which perhaps does say something about her.

Veel van de levenden zijn ook vaag en op drift, die tekortkoming is niet louter aan overledenen voorbehouden.

Wat altijd gebeurt als ze nadenkt over doodgaan. Je lichaam weet, ook al houden je hersens zich dom.

The idea that writers write books that have absolutely nothing to do with their personalities or lives, I think, is false. Your raw material is yourself. There is nothing else to draw on.

he is incapable of examining his own pain like a spore on a slide and finding it interesting, interesting. If your own pain is interesting to yo, how much more detached will you be from somebody else's pain...

What are you going to teach me about right and wrong? I know what is wrong. I have done wrong. I am told every day, by every face I see, every wall I face, that I am wrong.

In the street, he turned west and walked against a tide of blank-eyed, gum-chewing faces. A taxi went over a manhole cover, clink-clank. Steam was rising from an excavation at the corner. The world was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. What was the pont of all these drab buildings, this dirty sky?

christ alive we're abit of a mess arent we?

Do you think me weak, flawed? Do you hate me for setting my Inquisitorial role above the needs of one agonised being?

I thought I had trained you well, Beta,' she said, 'but I see I must reinforce the most basic conditioning. Know yourself. Understand yourself. In this life, most answers lie within, or in plain view right in front of us. They can be seen with ease if you but take the time to look.

An eye can look out and it can look in. You should know that, you who look deeper than most.

Do I look evil? I can't do evil. I can barely pull off dangerous.

How happy can you be when you think every action and thought is being monitored by a judgmental ghost?

religion that cannot survive looking at itself through the eyes of others does not deserve to survive.

Sometimes he thinks that if he could only trace the path of his life carefully enough, everything would become clear. The ways that he screwed up would make sense. He closes his eyes tightly. His life wasn't always a mistake, he thinks, and he breathes uncertainly for awhile, trying to find a pathway into unconsciousness, into sleep.

It's not like it ruined my life, I was going to say, but then I didn't. Because it occurred to me that maybe it had ruined my life, in a kind of quiet way--a little lie, probably not so vital, insidiously separating me from everyone I loved.

There is hardly anything at all. His life is suddenly a large, empty house, with each vacant room waiting to be furnished. His made-up wife. His invented father. His pretend childhood. He wonders if it is possible to unlie yourself.

The passion has never left me. I live as two people - myself, Dan Fante, and Bruno Dante or Mickey Di Salvo, or whoever I say I am in one of my books. I can tap that Bruno character any time I need to. He lives inside me like a quiet, simmering pool of magma. Years ago I stopped feeding him with booze and he was kind enough to stop trying to kill me. That's our truce.

Dear God: Please help me to know what the fuck to do with my life and how to fix it.

Taking it one step further, as Kabat-Zinn's voice murmured along, I realized I was not just noticing myself and my own thoughts and feelings and sensations but, in so doing, I was also observing myself observing myself. How bizarre: 3-back consciousness.

Diagnosed ill and off-kilter, poisoners, dreamers, madmen, lunatics, loners, sad ones, bad ones, star pegs in square holes, movers, shakers, mass debaters, tokers, pokers, instigators, conformity haters, subterfuge vessels and assassins of the vassals who lord over free and intelligent men with a dollar held high so that we jump until we die and know not of the pleasures of this life and the freedom of a soul unrestrained from the prison where the only fate is to hang.

The hangovers are the price I pay. Each skull-splitting excursion down my personal rabbit hole to hell is a guilt tinged reminder of every little fuckin' thing I've ever done wrong and never made amends for.

For me, I think it was a little easier to write thinking that nobody was listening.