Quotes About Introspection

I didn't look back. And right there, I felt it, the glow, the satisfaction of being the one who left first.

I just need to burrow in my little hobbit hole for a while, and when I'm ready, I'll come out again and be all right.

He knows me well enough to know that I just need to burrow in my little hobbit hole for a while, and when I'm ready, I'll come out again and be all right.

You only like guys you don't have a shot with, because you're scared. What are you scared of?

I'm somewhere else entirely, thinking about my letter to Peter, wondering if it was heartfelt enough, and how and when I'm going to give it to him, and what he'll say, and what it will mean.

maybe it's good to exist in a place of unsureness for a while.

How come you never dated anybody?" I shrug. "I don't know...because nobody ever asked?

It can be kind of gruesome at times, making things alone.

Being alone with yourself is increasingly unpopular.

With you inside me comes the knowledge of my death.

MORE THAN ONCE I'VE AWAKENED WITH TEARS RUNNING DOWN MY CHEEKS. I HAVE HAD TO THINK WHETHER I WAS CRYING OR WHETHER IT IS INVOLUNTARY, LIKE DROOLING.

As ugly as the truth is, it's even uglier when someone says out loud what you've been thinking to yourself.

Sometimes at night I conduct interviews with myself. What do you want? I don't know. What do you want? I don't know. What seems to be the problem? Just leave me alone.

What Rilke said: I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.

I tried to figure out if I felt calmer with a blanket over my head. No I did not was the answer.

For fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, she'd suspend her fierce judgment of the world and fall silent there. And when she did, a tiny space would clear in my head and I could think again.

Sometimes she just stands and looks out the window where the people whose lives are intact enough not to have to take yoga live.

Both have trouble working up the nerve to go into the Little Theater of Hurt Feelings.

Here is what happens in middle age: Some friends and acquaintances who were merely eccentric for years become unmistakably mad.

What Kafka said: I write to close my eyes.

Do you have a secret life? This is what she asks all her friends.

What Keats said: No such thing as the world becoming an easy place to save your soul in.

How is that even possible?" the philosopher says. "He's one of the kindest people I've ever met." She knows. She knows. So it begs the question, doesn't it? Did she unkind and ungood and untrue him?

In those last weeks, we drove without talking, trying to outride the heat, each alone in the dream the city had become. I was afraid to speak, to touch his arm even.