Quotes About Introspection

I always wished that I could find someone as beautiful as you, but in the process I forgot that I was special too.

Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone...

One lonely star you don't know who you are.

Keep a diary and one day it'll keep you.

I only read biographies, metaphysics and psychology. I can dream up my own fiction.

When in doubt, take a bath...

She said that it was dangerous to try to know somebody too well. People should have their own reserves, she said, the places they went in their minds, where no one else should follow.

When the hauteur slipped from her face, what would I see? Despair, I imagine. Not the passive, withdrawn despair that keeps itself in silence but the raging kind that incinerates all before it.

Want wisdom? Laugh at yourself.

You, reader, are alive today, reading this, because someone once adequately policed your mouth exploring.

I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do.

Perhaps I had inadvertently brushed up against the Buddhist axiom, that enlightenment is the ultimate disappointment.

And certainly there are many speakers whom I'd like to see do more trembling, more unknowing, more apologizing.

psychoanalysis gets interesting when it shifts the focus from making us more intelligible to ourselves to helping us become more curious about how strange we really are. And so, I would argue, does art.

92. Eventually I confess to a friend some details about my weeping—its intensity, its frequency. She says (kindly) that she thinks we sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair.

We ought to say a feeling of and, a feeling of if, a feeling of but, and a feeling of by, quite as readily as we say a feeling of blue or a feeling of cold. We ought to, but we don't—or at least, we don't quite as readily. But the more you do, the more quickly you can recognize the feeling when it comes around again, and hopefully you won't need to stare as long.

I think you overestimate the maturity of adults, he wrote me in his final letter, a letter he sent only after I'd broken down and written him first, after a year of silence.

You know so much about people from the second they open their mouths. Right away you might know that you might want to keep them out. That's part of the horror of speaking, of writing. There is nowhere to hide. When you try to hide, the spectacle can grow grotesque.

I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do ... It is easier, of course, to find dignity in one's solitude. Loneliness is solitude with a problem.

Oh, how often have I cursed those foolish pages of mine which made my youthful sufferings public property!" Goethe wrote years after the publication of The Sorrows of Young Werther.

The Oblivion Seekers, a collection one critic has described as "one of the strangest human documents that a woman has given to the world.

You're the only one who knows when you're using things to protect yourself and keep your ego together and when you're opening and letting things fall apart, letting the world come as it is—working with it rather than struggling against it. You're the only one who knows. And the thing is, even you don't always know.

I am trying to talk about what blue means, or what it means to me, apart from meaning.

She is trying to get me to see that although I thought I loved this man very completely for exactly who he was, I was in fact blind to the man he actually was, or is.