Quotes About Introspection

A good book ... leaves you wanting to reread the book. A great book compels you to reread your own soul.

A good book, he had concluded, leaves you wanting to reread the book. A great book compels you to reread your own soul. Such books were for him rare and, as he aged, rarer. Still he searched, one more Ithaca for which he was forever bound.

Writing is not lying, nor is it theft. It is a journey and search for transparency between one's words and one's soul.

So there you have it: two things & I can't bring them together & they are wrenching me apart. These two feelings, this knowledge of a world so awful, this sense of a life so extraordinary—how am I to resolve them?

And in the deepest recesses of his being, Dorrigo Evans understood that all his life had been a journeying to this point when he had for a moment flown into the sun and would now be journeying away from it forever after.

Then, what's the matter?' I wonder, in fact, how many times I have said that or something equal to it to a woman passing palely through my life. What're you thinking? What's made you so quiet? You seem suddenly different. What's the matter? Love me is what this means, of course. Or at least, second best: surrender. Or at the very least, take some time regaling me with why you won't, and maybe by the end you will.

Our ex-wifes always harbour secrets about us that make them irresistable. Until, of course, we remember who we are and what we did and why we are not married anymore.

Someone ... tell us what's important, because we no longer know.

Thinking hard about you I got on the bus and paid 30 cents car fare and asked the driver for two transfers before discovering that I was alone.

There he lived in solitary grandeur, eating and sleeping alone (and these were his principal occupations), and communing with his own dignity

The truly creative mind is hardly ever so much alone as when it is trying to be sociable. The

The tragedy is to die without knowing who you were, to keep the act going till the end.

The person who lets the world control him, no longer possesses his inner self.

Those whose happiness is within, whose peace is within, whose light is within—that person becomes free.

And I wanted to be as I had been yesterday, a boy again, without the heaviness of doubt, this pressing fear, this new treachery that lifted to realms of singing gold, and in a little space, flung to pits of night.

Then sense. Use your sense. Not all of us are born for greatness, but all of us have sense. Make use of it. Think. Think long and well.

Those who've marred their appearance in any way by their actions in life aren't forced to witness that marring. If they were, they'd become self-conscious and be unable to concentrate on improving themselves.

For he was a man and he was alone and these things had no importance to him.

He turned away from the bar as if he could leave the question there. But questions had no location; they could follow him around.

I don the robe of hermit without a cry.

Everyone has a secret place in his mind. Otherwise relationships would be impossible.

This, he knew, was courage, the truest, ultimate courage, because there was no one here to sympathize or praise him for it. What he felt was felt without the hope of commendation.

The essence of it all—this is the important part—was the knowledge that my thoughts had been real. Not just the things I said and did. What went on in my mind as well, positive or negative.

Morality, after all, had fallen with society. He was his own ethic. Makes