Quotes About Introspection

That, dillop brain, is what getting close to the Darke does. It makes you think only of yourself. It takes you away from people you care about. And now you don't have anyone to talk to and it serves you right.

Maxie knew he must have been very bad to deserve this. He wondered what it was he had done. And why he hadn't enjoyed it more at the time

So he just sits here staring into his beer.

What you mean this?" he asked. "You mean me? You mean Boggart?

as was the title: I, Marcellus.

Angus Stevenson

Angus Stevenson

My songs are just little letters to me.

and I try to draw the line but it ends up running down the middle of me most of the time.

If you don't live what you sing about, your mirror is gonna fade.

and honesty is the hardest part yeah honesty is the highest art and honestly i myself just started and eureka i'm less broken-hearted

You know that day after day of, Oh God what am I going to do with myself feeling? The fear of the emptiness that it implies keeps me going.

And suddenly you know: that was enough. You rise and there appears before you in all its longings and hesitations the shape of what you lived. Book of Images

Through All That Happens As you unfold as an artist, just keep on, quietly and earnestly, growing through all that happens to you. You cannot disrupt this process more violently than by looking outside yourself for answers that may only be found by attending to your innermost feeling. Paris, February 17, 1903 Letters to a Young Poet

What Is Within You Think, dear sir, of the world you carry within you…be it remembrance of your own childhood or longing for your own future. Only be attentive to what is arising in you, and prize it above all that you perceive around you. What happens most deeply inside you is worthy of your whole love. Work with that and don't waste too much time and courage explaining it to other people. Rome, December 23, 1903 Letters to a Young Poet

It's here in all the pieces of my shame that now I find myself again. From The Book of Hours II, 2

The truth I'm trying to convey is not a startling one, it is simply a peeling away of affectation. I use whatever gift I have to get behind the facade.

Secretly she envied those who went out and about, while she remained in the grip of her sentences.

Had she been more active, less reclusive, she would have gone out into the streets to lose herself in some sort of company, have made the pretext of buying an evening paper an opportunity to chat to the newsagent, but she rejected such stratagems, seeing them for what they were. It had been decreed that she was to be solitary, and somehow she had always known this. Once she had left her parents' house all friendships had seemed provisional; even marriage had not changed that.

Where I had once thought to say, Look at me, I must now turn the attention of others away from myself.

She had been unprepared for old age to render her so harmless. It was as if her sins had been wiped away, leaving only concealment in their place.

For they themselves were still beautiful, designed for a more beautiful life than the one in which they found themselves becalmed. She saw that they were more stoical, had more depth, than she had ever perceived.

And the curious thing was that Dr Weiss had never met anyone, man or woman, friend or colleague, who could stand literature when not on the page.

Yet for all her solitariness, or her self-sufficiency, she lacked an overriding philosophy to help her deal with encroachments, incursions, and thus fell at the first fence.