Quotes About Introspection

Existe ese Aleph en lo íntimo de una piedra? ¿Lo he visto cuando vi todas las cosas y lo he olvidado? Nuestra mente es porosa para el olvido; yo mismo estoy falseando y perdiendo, bajo la trágica erosión de los años, los rasgos de Beatriz

But I will relate what happened with absolute honesty; that, perhaps, will help me understand it. After all, when one confesses to an act, one ceases to be an actor in it and becomes its witness, becomes a man that observes and narrates it and no longer the man that performed it.

La ya avanzada edad me ha enseñado la resignación de ser Borges

I'm alone and nobody is in the mirror

A veces en las tardes una cara Nos mira desde el fondo de un espejo; El arte debe ser como ese espejo Que nos revela nuestra propia cara. (At times in the evenings a face Looks at us out of the depths of a mirror; Art should be like that mirror Which reveals to us our own face.)

kitapl?k sahibi tüm insanlar gibi aurelianus da sahip olduÄŸu bütün kitaplar? hakk?n? vererek okumam?? olmakla suçlard? kendini.bu tart??ma ona kitapl???n?n raflar?nda ihmal edildikleri için ay?plar gibi duran birçok kitab? gözden geçirme f?rsat? verdi.(Çev.:Tomris Uyar)

I will pause to consider this eternity from which the subsequent ones derive.

Y no comprendo cómo el tiempo pasa Yo, que soy tiempo y sangre y agonía.

But I will relate what happened with absolute honesty; that, perhaps, will help me understand it. After all, when one confesses to an act, one ceases to be an actor in it and becomes its witness, becomes a person that observes and narrates it and no longer the person that performed it.

Seré todos o nadie. Seré el otro Que sin saberlo soy, el que ha mirado Ese otro sueño, mi vigilia. La juzga, Resignado y sonriente.

I must get at you, somehow; I put away those illustrious toys you have left me, I want your hidden look, your real smile -- that lonely, mocking smile your cool mirror knows

Llegué a abominar de mi cuerpo, llegué a sentir que dos ojos, dos manos, dos pulmones, son tan monstruosos como dos caras.

Que muera conmigo el misterio que está escrito en los tigres. Quien ha entrevisto el universo, quien ha entrevisto los ardientes designios del universo, no puede pensar en un hombre, en sus triviales dichas o desventuras, aunque ese hombre sea él

I'm sorry to say that people have written fifty or sixty books about me. I haven't read a single one of them, since I know too much of the subject, and I'm sick and tired of it.

It's enough that if I am rich in anything, it is in perplexities rather then in certaintes.

To be not a man, but the projection of another man's dream- what incomparable humiliation, what vertigo!

He was the solitary lucid spectator of a multiform, momentaneous, and almost unbearably precise world.

El tiempo está viviéndome. (Jactancia de quietud - Luna de enfrente)

No hay cosas que no esté como perdida entre infatigables espejos.

I felt what we always feel when someone dies–the sad awareness, now futile, of how little it would have cost us to have been more loving. One forgets that one is a dead man conversing with dead men.

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world?

I know very little of my own work by heart, because I don't like what I write. In fact, I find myself personally expressed far better in the writings of other poets than in my own, because I know all my mistakes—I know all the chinks and all the padding, I know that a particular line is weak, and so on. I read other poets in a different way; I don't look too closely at them.

When I began writing I always said to myself that my ideas were very shallow-- that if a reader saw through them, he would despise me. So I disguised myself.

He walked against the florid banners of the fire. And the fire did not bite his flesh but caressed and engulfed him without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he, too, was all appearance, that someone else was dreaming him.