Quotes About Introspection

She was so shattered about what kind of man he was -- brutal, tender, passionate. There was little doubt he had some mental disorder.

Only a man who cannot conquer his deficiencies feels the need to convince the world that he has none.

Was tomorrow going to see the end of her long-guarded virginity?

I have spent all my years accepting sad truths. —Quebrado

How can people stay sane in a world that makes no sense?

I sing without knowing what my song means, and whether the listening world is amazed or wounded.

I freed myself in order to be alone. For me freedom means solitude, a solitude full of walks in the country, solitary strolls through unfamiliar cities, books scattered around my bed at night, lying open at random pages.

My strength and my weakness are twins in the same womb.

Never let them know who you really are, how you live, and that you can observe and think, that was her motto.

Variant selves haunt the corridors of my brain, people my novels, crowd in like ghosts drawn to blood when friends or strangers tell me secrets, hand me their troubles, sweaters knit of hair and wire.

We all of us go about, she meant to tell him but was too occupied, wanting to be wanted but unsure why anybody should bother.

I am still that child. I eavesdrop on the conversations of strangers in restaurants, in airports and supermarkets. I drive my husband crazy with questions sometimes; but I am still a good listener and I still keep secrets.

We can only know what we can truly imagine. Finally what we see comes from ourselves.

Well, they're all performers, aren't they? All mild exhibitionists. They're so busy putting themselves over that they haven't time to think about anyone else. It's not that they don't like other people; they just never have a moment to consider them.

However carefully a judge is protected by the experience and the logic of the law, there must be times -not many, I know, or we should have no judges- when the same frightful question must be answered. Not faced, you see, but answered. Every now and again he must have to say to himself, in effect, "Everyone agrees that this colour is black, and my reason tells me it is so, but on my soul, do I know?

Todo viaje hombre adentro tiene su contrapartida, es decir, el viaje mujer afuera.

I have cuts and bruises that do not map a course.

There was a girl, once upon a time and in your time. She embraced her life up to a point, then rejected it, and from that rejection have come all her difficulties.

I was a jealous little she-reader; I resented pouring myself into the lives of hero-boys.

The human psyche is pathetic," I say–I declaim–to my psychopharmacologist. "It's what we have, Miss Jefferson," he replies, "it's what we have." And what I have is what I take to my psychotherapist each week. What I have is what we make together, each supplying the material she knows best. There are days when I still want to dismantle this constructed self of mine. You did it so badly, I think. You lost so much time. And then I tell myself, so what? So what? Go on.

I catch myself thinking that I'm not physically visible, that whoever I'm talking to is responding to my personality, not my person.

What I would have to do later, starting in college and in the years following, to become a person of inner consequence: break that fawning inner self into pieces.

too, rolled and

There are days when I still want to dismantle this constructed self of mine. You did it so badly, I think. You lost so much time. And then I tell myself, so what? So what? Go on.