Quotes About Introspection

Just because you don't say much doesn't mean people don't notice you. It's actually the quiet ones who often draw the most attention. There's this constant whirlwind of motion and sound all around, and then there's the quiet one, the eye of the storm.

Devon? Are you okay?" For the first time, Dom's voice sounds unsure. Devon sats nothing, not one word. She pushes herself up. She slides the papers toward herself. She slowly folds them into quarters. She closes her hand around them. Devon lifts her face to Dom's. Is she "okay"? Will she ever, ever be okay?

Go to where the silence is and say something.

Maybe this is not a come-down-from-the-ledge story. But I tell it with the thought that the woman on the ledge will ask herself a question, the question that occurred to that man in Bogota. He wondered how we know that what happens to us isn't good?

Look at me. My concerns-are they spiritual, do you think, or carnal? Come on. We've read our Shakespeare.

I suppose there are two worlds-the small, protected one we carve out for ourselves, where we fret about a whole lot of nothing, and the other world, the real one, which comes knocking at the door, demanding to be let in and given a seat.

And that one part can make an enormous difference in the lives of others, especially when we commit to a life of spiritual wholeness that's represented by looking inward with our hearts (inner disciplines affect how we see others); looking outward with our eyes (how we see others affects how we treat others); and finally, by using what we've learned practically, with our hands.

inner disciplines affect how we see others); looking outward with our eyes (how we see others affects how we treat others); and finally, by using what we've learned practically, with our hands.

And so, for me, being quiet and slow is being myself, and that is my gift.

Know this: You should judge every person by his merits. Even someone who seems completely wicked, you must search and find that little speck of good, for in that place, he is not wicked. By this you will raise him up, and help him return to God. And you must also do this for yourself, finding your own good points, one after the other, and raising yourself up. This is how melodies are made, note after note. REBBE NACHMAN OF BRESLOV

He appreciated and represented the intricacies of life and showed an appreciation for complex and conflicting feelings. He wasn't naïve; he knew that seeing the best in ourselves so that we can see the best in our neighbor—an act that translates into harmonious relationships—is only possible because of forgiveness.

Species went extinct and new ones evolved from protozoa while he sat in his car in the dark and waited to see how badly he'd fucked this up.

To get a true sense of the book, I have to spend a few moments inside. I'll glance at the first couple pages, then flip around to somewhere in the middle, see if the language matches me somehow. It's like dating, only with sentences......It could be something as simple yet weirdly potent as a single word (tangerine). We're meant to be, that sentence and me. And when it happens, you just know.

For anyone trying to discern what to do with their life: PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT YOU PAY ATTENTION TO. That's pretty much all the info you need.

I think 90 percent of what/who we are is never really verbally communicated....

He had learned that sometimes, watching someone work or standing beside them, looking at stars or at bugs or at a sunset, was far more communicative than the eternal babble that sprung from his own wayward tongue.

Yes. You couldn't make anyone else happy. He tried to tell himself that, and drink through the buzzing little voice saying that, for a few short weeks, he actually had made someone else happy. And Owen had made him happy too.

You're not even looking at the view, Xan." "I'm looking at all I need to.

In fact, I'm thinking you're my object lesson for who I don't want to let into my life.

I'm stupid. I mean, God. My first relationship was a clusterfuck of entrapment—you know that.

My father taught me to judge and judge hard and judge mean. And I learned that lesson so well, I judged myself right into a fucking corner." "And then what?" Lance asked. "I gnawed off my own leg to get out of it." Henry let out a broken laugh.

I'll be on the couch, bleeding through a number two pencil.

That the person in my skin was so plain to someone else, I didn't expect it. How is it you can see the guy I've hidden mostly from myself?

Sappho would speak, I think, quite openly,And Mrs. Browning guard a careful silence,But Emily would set doors ajar and slam themAnd love you for your speed of observation.