Quotes About Introspection

Pero yo no quiero ir adonde hay locos -dijo Alicia. - Oh, esos es inevitable -dijo el Gato-; aquí todos estamos locos. Yo estoy loco. Tu estás loca. - ¿Y usted cómo sabe que yo estoy loca? -preguntó Alicia. - Tienes que estarlo -dijo el Gato -; si no, no habrías venido aquí.

Qui siamo tutti matti. Io sono matto. Tu sei matta. Come lo sai che sono matta? disse Alice. Altrimenti non saresti venuta qui, disse il Gatto.

How do you know I'm mad? said Alice You must be, said the cat, or you wouldn't have come here.

La cosa no tenía nada de muy especial, [...] pero tampoco le pareció a Alicia que tuviera nada de muy extraño.

And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, 'Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?' and sometimes, 'Do bats eat cats?' for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it.

I wonder how many times each day she dies a little.

There's a lot about discovering who you are and how difficult that is. And it never stops.

The dark does not weep for itself because there is no light. Rather, it accepts that it is the dark.

You've been assigned an identity since birth. Then you spend the rest of your life walking around in it to see if it really fits. You try on all these different selves and abandon just as many. But really it's about dismantling all that false armor, getting down to what's real.

We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion trying to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.

When the music is over, she keeps her head down till she finds her seat again, and I wonder how many times each day she dies a little.

You don't know me, dude, he says, not smiling this time. Gonzo examines his cards, prepping for his next move. People always think that they know other people, but they don't. Not really. I mean, maybe they know things about them, like they won't eat doughnuts or they like action movies or whatever. But they don't know what their friends do in their rooms alone at night or what happened to them when they were kids or if they feel ****ed up for no reason at all.

For the first time, I notice the lax skin at Mrs. Nightwing's jaw, the fine down that lies upon her cheek like the imprint of a childe's hand, and I wonder what it must be like watching yourself soften under the years, unable to stop it. what it's like measuring your days in perfecting girls' curtsies and drinking nightly glasses of sherry, trying to keep up with the world as it pulls you spinning into the furure, knowing you are always one step behind it.

Because I'm not enough, she thought. That was the terrible echo shouting up at her: Fraud, fraud, fraud. She got drunk and talked too much and danced on tables. She had a temper and a sharp tongue, and she often blurted out things she instantly regretted. Worst of all, she suspected that was who she truly was—not so much a bright young thing as a messy young thing.

And sometimes I just don't want to sparkle.

I'm floating inside my skin. I could go on floating like this for days. Right now, the real world with its heartbreak and disappointments is just a pulse against the protective membrane we've drunk ourselves into. It's somewhere outside us, waiting. A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 141, by

I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all the time.-A Great and Terrible Beauty

But if you abandoned the idea that such a paradise awaited you, and believed that you would live this life over and over again, would you not live the life you had more thoughtfully?

And now if you'll excuse me, I should like to finish my book, alone, without the presence of a single ringleted girl to disrupt me. If you should come for me at dinner and find me in my chair, gone to the angels at last, you shall know that I died alone, which is to say in a state of utter bliss.

You must work always to understand your own heart so that it cannot be used against you.

When did you become a cynic?" Sam asked. Evie smiled. "When I found out I was a little girl.

Why was there so much silence between men?

Looking for truth makes a man hafta look at himself along the way.

What do I want? Why is that simple question - four little words - so impossible to answer?