Quotes About Introspection

Quién quería tener un perro así? ¿Qué hueco afectivo emocional venía a llenar semejante monstruo en una casa? ¿Era metáfora de qué? ¿Prolongación de qué? ¿Doble animal, nahual, de quién? ¿Por qué carajo me traía esta mina a su novio convertido en perro y me dejaba cuidándolo un ratito?

Y yo sentí lo de otras veces: que entrar a un pueblo en medio de la oscuridad era como estrecharle la mano a una persona sin poder verle la cara.

Deje que lo revuelva todo, que solo el que lo revuelve todo saca algo en claro.

fearful—reflect

I would like to know just what kind of nothing I am

grieving is the beginning of your self discovery

the people in my life didn't destroy me. i destroyed myself with intense feelings of inadequacy.

Matt found that endearing. And disturbing in ways he didn't want to acknowledge.

Not that he was any expert on the subject, but Matt believed he could tell a lot about a woman by observing the way she watched a sunset.

To know what we think, to be masters of our own meaning, will make a solid foundation for great and weighty thought.

The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves, is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly and gently.

When things are shaky and nothing is working, we might realize that we are on the verge of something. We might realize that this is a very vulnerable and tender place, and that tenderness can go either way. We can shut down and feel resentful or we can touch in on that throbbing quality. (9)

The most difficult times for many of us are the ones we give ourselves.

I have stepped off the relationship scene to come to terms with myself. I have spent most of my adult life being 'someone's girlfriend', and now I am happy being single.

Charlotte looked up doubtfully, wondering why, as she got older, she seemed to be more afraid of things, not less.

Florence had noticed one or two eccentricities in herself lately, which might be the result of hard work, or of age, or of living alone. When the letters came, for example, she often found herself wasting time in looking at the postmarks and wondering whoever they could be from, instead of opening them in a sensible manner and finding out at once.

I have no idea where I am going, she thought, but I have begun.

But her thoughts are often of the past. That evanescent, pervasive, slippery internal landscape known to no one else, that vast accretion of data on which you depend - without it you would not be yourself. Impossible to share and no one else could view it anyway. The past is out ultimate privacy; we pile it up, year by year, decade by decade, it stows itself away, with its perverse random recall system.

The past is our ultimate privacy; we pile it up, year by year, decade by decade, it stows itself away, with its perverse random recall system.

I began drinking because the thought that I was drinking gave me a kind of identity: each time I poured myself a brandy in the deserted afternoon I could say to myself 'I am a woman who drinks.

I don't know who I am, I don't know what I'm like, how can I know what I want? I only know that whether I'm good or bad, whether I'm a bitch or not, whether I'm strong or weak or contemptible or a bloody martyr - I mean whether I'm fat or thin, tall or short, because I don't know - I want to be happy.

I have tried to be honest with you, although I suppose that you would really have been more interested in my not being honest. Some of these things happened, and some were dreams. They were all true, as I understood truth. They are all real, as I understood reality.

I was alone with myself, and we watched each other with steady, cold, inward eyes: the past and its consequence, the reality and its insubordinate dream.

She got up from the armchair, into which she had plumped with horror, and started to bustle about the room. Jane often bustled about the room, suddenly remembering to stir her life, as though it were kept simmering on a low flame. When this was done, with nothing apparently achieved, she came back and sat by the fire, her arms clasped round her knees.