Quotes About Introspection

How many hours can one person spend locked in a bathroom, looking at skin, hair, eyes. Feeling fingers, toes. And the absurdity of a belly button?

The dictionary says my identity should be all about being separate or distinct, and yet it feels like it is so wrapped up in others.

Maybe we all have a dark place inside of us, a place where dark thoughts and darker dreams live, but it doesn't have to become who we are.

These memories descend out of nowhere, giving me pieces of who I was, but their significance is lost. I sigh and resume my walk, not knowing if this memory is important, or just more of the jumbled trivia of Jenna's life, like sock shopping. Maybe that is all any life is composed of, trivia that eventually adds up to a person, and maybe I just don't have enough of it yet to be a whole one.

Was it possible to ever really know anyone, or was I simply the worst judge of character in all of history?

except for the muffled strum of her fingers against metal, the house is still, quiet, but then she hears another sound, this one coming from deep within. a numbing furrow slides through her soul, sliding into her brain, a furrow that seperates one part of her heart from the other. and then it goes quiet agani.

Ethan knows more about himself than he ever wanted to know, and I know less than I should.

Because too little talk frightens people and prompts questions. They're afraid of what goes on in a silent mind. As maybe they should be.

How did one fall out of love without falling apart at the same time?

We all have a dark place in us. It's what we do with it and the choices we make.

I wondered how I had not seen how beautiful his eyes were the first time we met.

I was always observing. Even while talking, living, going through every motion, I was watching myself and the situation. That's a writer. Always observing.

One loses many laughs by not laughing at oneself.

What are you thinking?" She asks. -That you are beautiful. That not everyone could see it. I almost became the kind of person who could not.

I wanted to know people. I wanted to love. But I didn't realize how badly I had been hurt. I didn't realize that my habit of distance had become so unconscious and deep that I didn't know how to be with another person. I could only fix that person in my imagination and turn him this way and that, trying to feel him, until my mind was tired and raw.

What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself.

Oh, there are times, Miss Norah, when I talk to myself--which is bad--or yarn to old Turpentine, my snake, just to hear the sound of words again.

I often think how unadventurous my life must seem from the outside, though I do like my job.

I don't listen to people's opinions. I have people around me who I can trust, but most of all I listen to myself.

I knew, I knew, but I tried to close the door on my knowing.

It is usually better if you don't try to predetermine your response, but rather ask each card, "Do you represent an ability of mine?

Even the best of us are at least part-time bastards.

Suddenly he saw himself as others in the crowd must surely see him; a silent, solitary figure, standing apart from the rest. He looked out at the hoardes of singing, laughing people and felt more alone than he'd ever felt in his life. Was this how it was going to be then? Was this who he was? A man apart from his fellows, making the journey through life alone?

Mom wrote to God like a pen pal would, so straightforward and friendly. Her mind ricocheted from one thought to another, as mine still does.