Quotes About Introspection

I think that this is why I relish writing for you so much. It makes it possible for me to be not like I am, but as I desire for Little Igor to see me. I can be funny, because I have time to meditate about how to be funny, and I can repair my mistakes when I perform mistakes, and I can be a melancholy person in manners that are interesting, not only melancholy. With writing, we have second chances.

Julia Bloch: 43. Wife of Jacob. Architect, although secretly ashamed of referring to herself as such, given that she's never built a building. Immensely talented, tragically overburdened, perpetually unappreciated, seasonally optimistic. Often wonders if all it would take to completely change her life would be a complete change of context.

Maybe that's what a person's personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.

The inside of life became far smaller than the outside, creating a cavity, an emptiness.

Sie war ein Genie der Traurigkeit: Sie badete in Traurigkeit, sie entwirrte die zahlreichen Stränge der Traurigkeit, sie kostete alle zarten Nuancen der Traurigkeit aus. Sie war ein Prisma, durch dass die Traurigkeit in ihr undendlich breit gefächertes Spektrum zerlegt werden kontte.

She had fallen in love so many times that she began to suspect that she was not falling in love at all, bt doing something much more ordinary.

What do you think is going on?' 'I feel too much. That's what's going on.' 'Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?' 'My insides don't match up with my outsides.' 'Do anyone's insides and outsides match up?' 'I don't know. I'm only me.' 'Maybe that's what a person's personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.

Si-a lasat familia de izbeliste. Mi-am scris expresia pe creier.

I looked for her all day but didn't see her, not in the yard, not through a window, I promised myself I would stay until I found her, but as night began to come in, I knew I had to go home, I hated myself for going, why couldn't I be the kind of person who stays?

I'd been someone else in a different world I'd've done something different, but I was myself, and the world was the world, so I was silent.

Am stat cuibariti cateva momente, apoi ne-am intins amandoi pe spate si iarba era ca un pat. Pentru ca era asa de intuneric, puteam vedea multe dintre stele. Era ca si cand ne-am fi aflat sub o umbrela mare sau sub o rochie. Am vorbit multe minute despre multe lucruri, dar de fapt eu nu-l ascultam si nici el nu ma asculta, si eu nu ma ascultam pe mine, iar el nu se asculta pe sine. Ne aflam pe iarba, sub stele si asta este ceea ce faceam.

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living

I wanted to pull the thread, unravel the scarf of my silence and start again from the beginning . . .

It probably gets pretty lonely to be anyone.

I'm possibly possible.

She let the dust accumulate on her shoulders.

As told by Kafka's close friend Max Brod: Suddenly he began to speak to the fish in their illuminated tanks. 'Now at least I can look at you in peace, I don't eat you anymore.' It was the time he turned strictly vegetarian.

Brod's life was a slow realisation that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time.

There's nothing wrong with not understanding yourself.

My boots were so heavy that I was glad there was a column beneath us. How could such a lonely person have been living so close to me my whole life? If I had known, I would have gone up to keep him company. . . It made me start to wonder if there were other people so lonely so close.

Give it a try. Bellybutton." "Bellybutton doesn't make me think of anything." "Dig deep." "In my bellybutton?" "In your brain, Oskar." "Uh." "Bellybutton. Bellybutton." "Stomach anus?

In its eyes I was sure I saw some form of understanding, but I didn't see forgiveness.

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.

Aloneness isn't loneliness.