Quotes About Introspection

The more I get to do this character, the more I realize that she's not just annoying. It's that her strength is not interacting with people socially. She just doesn't have time because she has so much going on in her brain.

I was born to be alone, and I always shall be but now I want to be.

People say of me, 'She's peculiar.' They do not understand me. If they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis.

I am lithe, but fragile from constant involuntary self-analysis.

I consider calmly the question of how much evil I should need to kill off my finer feelings…

We are the hero of our own story.

What's the use of falling in love if you both remain inertly as you were?

One of the big features of living alone was that you could talk to yourself all you wanted and address imaginary audiences, running the gamut of emotion.

She considered [her] life, which had not been a life but only a sort of greeting, a Hello There.

There were so many things I wasn't that I had difficulty defining myself, especially in relation to Elise, who was so many things.

I would always think the worst of people and it would keep me from them because I couldn't accept myself.

Mind you, after a time freedom can be a lonesome thing

I knew that if God had created a woman who could keep her man from straying, it probably wasn't me.

It was in the in-between time when he felt lost.

Recently I realized that silent is an anagram for listen. It is the voice that comes from the silence that the writer or artist must listen to.

I very much wished not to be noticed, and to be left alone, and I sort of succeeded.

With meditation I found a ledge above the waterfall of my thoughts.

Often I wished for someone to share my mind with; but their hearts were in little things, they would have thought me a dreamer, and I had to plan alone.

In grief more than in joy, man longs to know that the universe turns around him.

It had come to him that no one would ever look from these eyes but he: that among all the lives, numerous beyond imagination, in which he might have lived, he was this one, pinned to this single point of infinity; the rest always to be alien, he to be I.

In his imagination the pages were printed not with their own paragraphs only, but with all that he himself had brought to them: it seemed as though he must be identified and revealed in them, beyond all pretence of detachment, as if they were a diary to which he had committed every secret of his heart.

Speak for me, Nikeratos. Someone's soul is always listening." Someone's always is, I suppose, if one only knew. Plato never forgot it.

If you know about yourself, presumably you know about at least one other person.

I could not tell what I should fill even this one day with; and there were years ahead. She