Quotes About Introspection

Laurel could not see her face but only the back of her neck, the most vulnerable part of anybody, and she thought: Is there any sleeping person you can be entirely sure you have not misjudged?

Since we must and do write each our own way, we may during actual writing get more lasting instruction not from another's work, whatever its blessings, however better it is than ours, but from our own poor scratched-over pages. For these we can hold up to life. That is, we are born with a mind and heart to hold each page up to, and to ask: is it valid?

It's always taken a lot out of me, being smart.

Writing fiction has developed in me an abiding respect for the unknown in a human lifetime and a sense of where to look for the threads, how to follow, how to connect, find in the thick of the tangle what clear line persists.

I've always been shy physically. This in part tended to keep me from rushing into things, including relationships, headlong. Not rushing headlong, though I may have wanted to, but beginning to write stories about people, I drew near slowly; noting and guessing, apprehending, hoping, drawing my eventual conclusions out of my own heart, I did venture closer to where I wanted to go.

My temperament and my instinct had told me alike that the author, who writes at his own emergency, remains and needs to remain at his private remove. I wished to be, not effaced, but invisible - actually a profound position. Perspective, the line of vision, the frame of vision - these set a distance.

Her father left his questions unasked. But both knew, and for the same reason, that bad days go better without any questions at all.

I was always my own teacher.

I knew this, anyway: that my wish, indeed my continuing passion, would be not to point the finger in judgment but to part a curtain, that invisible shadow that falls between people, the veil of indifference to each other's presence, each other's wonder, each other's human plight.

Within the confines of the great, universal prison, I had made for myself a smaller prison, a prison made to order. I had carved out for myself a little niche in which I could live. It was tiny, I had no doubt about that point. But at least it was made to measure, to my measure. A little niche in a prison that kept me from seeing the prison. A prison without work? Was I bored? Was I resigned? Tired, no doubt.

Acum m? închid,m? cuib?resc în fric?,m? înf??or,m? cufund în ea,ca într-un aÈ™ternut.

Eu nu sunt eu. Eu sunt altul. Sunt unul într-altul.

Continuându-ÅŸi lectura, Domnul Smith, plesc?ie.

The Dog and the Cow," an experimental fable. Once upon a time another cow asked another dog: "Why have you not swallowed your trunk?" "Pardon me," replied the dog, "it is because I thought that I was an elephant.

Obositul ins Cineva rupea din el cîte puÈ›intel. L-a l?sat decolorat È™i cutremurat, Mirat s-a pip?it dar nu s-a reg?sit. Din el o forÈ›a rea creÈ™tea È™i-l cuprindea. Obositul ins se l?s? cuprins.

I can't stick it. Perhaps it's my liver. I feel I've aged. Of course, I'm not exactly young any more. Still, to feel like this . .

Ce matin, quand tu t'es regardé dans la glace tu ne t'es pas vu. C'est parce que je n'étais pas encore là. (IX, 59)

Dans la vie, il faut regarder par la fenêtre. (XI, 61)

You had to suffer shipwreck through your own efforts before you were ready to seize the lifebelt he threw you. Believe me, I know from my own experience that the Master knows you and each of his pupils much better than we know ourselves. He reads in the souls of his pupils more than they care to admit.

archery is still a matter of life and death to the extent that it is a contest of the archer with himself;

Nu vedeti, am spus, toti sînt închisi în sicrie transparente.

De obicei nu eÈ™ti singur în gingur?tate. Aduci È™i restul lumii cu tine.

So it is that once a person has settled on the question as to what is wrong, the choice of cures is limited. You do not prescribe surgery for a minor cut, nor do you put a Band-Aid on cancer. The question of the human condition is, I believe, the most fundamental and consequential question of all.

Writing is my vacation from living