Quotes About Introspection

Quite collected at cocktail parties, meanwhile in my head I'm undergoing open-heart surgery.

I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.

madness is not hysteria. It can be very quiet…

being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions

I didn't feel at home in life.

A good mixture of nothing and everything is eating up my head alive.

The trouble is that I am crazy and the room, ah, my own room drinks me.

Clover['s] eyes are full of language.

From Camus' notebooks … "an intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself.

I seem to be a ship that is sailing out of my own life.

Alone in our place I was a guest.

The Fury of Sunsets" Something cold is in the air, an aura of ice and phlegm. All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it. The horizon bleeds and sucks its thumb. The little red thumb goes out of sight. And I wonder about this lifetime with myself, this dream I'm living. I could eat the sky like an apple but I'd rather ask the first star: why am I here? why do I live in this house? who's responsible? eh?

It is not enough to read Hesse and drink clam chowder, we must have the answers.

I am ugly, submerged in my own past and my own madness

Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself... ("You, Doctor Martin")

I don't know if I can go on spilling myself out to people—those strange strangers.

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.

For all you who are going, and there are many who are climbing their pain, many who will be painted out with a black ink suddenly and before it is time, for these many I say, awkwardly, clumsily, take off your life like trousers, your shoes, your underwear, then take off your flesh, unpick the lock of your bones. In other words take off the wall that separates you from God.

Well, my rationalization for today is that if "an intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself" the same could be said for masturbation or even better for suicide

The bed itself is an operating table where my dreams slice me to pieces.

Kind Sir: Lost and of your same kind I have turned around twice with my eyes sealed and the woods were white and my night mind saw such strange happenings, untold and unreal. And opening my eyes, I am afraid of course to look—this inward look that society scorns— Still, I search in these woods and find nothing worse than myself, caught between the grapes and the thorns.

Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.

I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.