Quotes About Introspection

Maybe I'm getting precognitive in my old age.

The darkness and myself. Everything else was gone. And the little that was left of me was going, faster and faster.

He was his own victim, his own slave. He had made personality a profession, created a career out of selling himself. And he could not stray far, or for long, from his self-made self.

It just doesn't make spiritual sense to suggest that the evil all lies "out there" with our adversaries and enemies, and none of it is "in here" with us—embedded in our own attitudes, behaviors, and policies.

Who are you to judge the life i live i know i'm not perfect and i don't live to be. but before you start pointing fingers make sure your hands are clean.

I used to live in a room full of mirrors; all I could see was me. I take my spirit and I crash my mirrors, now the whole world is here for me to see.

Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends. If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.

I don't think it's any coincidence that I lost my religious faith and 'manned up' in the same year. I was described somewhere as a lapsed Catholic, which is funny because I'm not going back! I want to achieve things rather than live life in an animalistic way.

Testing oneself is best when done alone.

my life is enough to depress the entire universe but I'm the only one living it

And so I pray I am today as honest with myself, with life all around me and below and above me, with all who I encounter.

I've traveled far and wide, always alone, so therefore I've never been in Cahoots.

A small bubble of self-esteem percolated up from my depths.

So a person who is truly humble recognizes both his capabilities and his limitations.

To the question of your life, you are the only answer. To the problems of your life, you are the only solution.

Of all the people you will know in a lifetime, you are the only one you will never leave or lose. To the question of your life, You are the only answer. To the problems of your life, You are the only solution.

But then she faced herself squarely in her bathroom mirror. "Do not think about it." she said aloud, so stern she convinced even herself.

Sometimes I think they are, not that it's ever been said

But then, as she looks at their unsuspecting, uninterested faces, she will start to think about what that really means. That just like there is more to her than what they see, there is more inside each one of them. What's your story? she will wonder as she scans the room from face to face. And this time, when she pleads with them to read between the lines, she will try to do the same.

I do what I always do. I go outside to get some air. Seems like I'm always trying to get some air.

The hard floor makes my head ache more than it did before, but I don't get up. I don't move. I feel all the ugliness and shame I've bottled up pour over me and cover me like a blanket.

I nod to say good-bye, and I almost believe she's nodding back at me. But she's not. It's me nodding. Me nodding to her, and to myself. When I stand, I see the shape of my legs reflected in the stone. I step backward. Backward. Backward until I can't see my image there anymore. Then I turn and walk away.

my flesh was glass, I spoke in little clicks and chinks, and my transparent self went about its business all that day, the usual.

I care more about the people in books than the people I see every day.