Quotes About Introspection

Nunca tive outra preocupação verdadeira senão a minha vida interior.

Que mãos estenderei para que universo? O universo não é meu: sou eu.

Kiekvienas iš m?s? yra du, ir kai du žmon?s susitinka, suart?ja, susiriša, retai visas ketvertas sutaria. Svajojantis žmogus, esantis kiekviename veikian?iame žmoguje, dažnokai pešasi su veikian?iu žmogumi - tai kaipgi jie nesipeš su veikian?iu žmogumi ir svajojan?iu žmogumi, esan?iais Kitame?

Recordemo-nos sempre de que sonhar é procurarmo-nos.

I always thought of metaphysics as a prolonged form of latent madness.

O essencial é saber ver, Saber ver sem estar a pensar, Saber ver quando se vê, E nem pensar quando se vê Nem ver quando se pensa.   Mas isso (tristes de nós que trazemos a alma vestida!), Isso exige um estudo profundo, Uma aprendizagem de desaprender E

Singurul mod de a ne putem pune de acord cu viaÅ£a este s? fim în dezacord cu noi înÅŸine.Absurdul este Divinul.

A-Å£i g?si perosnalitatea în faptul de a o pierde,chiar ÅŸi credinÅ£a confirm? acest înÅ£eles al destinului.

It's by the door of thought and the window of observation that suffering comes into one's house.

I open the window. Everything outside is so gentle, yet it pierces me with an indefinable pain, a vague feeling of discontent.

Both objectively and subjectively speaking, I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of everything, and of everything about everything.

These people are more bearable when they describe, since in describing they forget themselves.

Other people's understanding of us is made up of so many complex misunderstandings. Anyone who wants to be understood will never know the delight of being understood, because this happens only to the complex and misunderstood; simple souls, the ones whom other people can understand, never feel a desire to be understood.

Since life is essentially a mental state and everything that we do or think is only as valuable as we think it is, it depends on us for any value it may have.

The truly superior (and the happiest) men are those who, perceiving that everything is a fiction, make up their own novel before someone else does it for them and, like Machiavelli, don courtly robes in order to write in secret.

To associate is to die. Only my consciousness of myself is real for me; other people are hazy phenomena in this consciousness, and it would be morbid to attribute very much reality to them.

I let my mind wander, and I'm sure that what I'm writing I've already written. I remember. And I ask the one in me who presumes to exist if in the Platonism of sensations there might not be another, less vertical anamnesis – another pre-existing life that we vaguely remember but that belongs only to this life… My God, my God, who am I watching? How many am I? Who is I? What is this gap between me and myself?

Pero no me engaño, escribo, sumo, y la escritura sigue, como hecha por un empleado cualquiera de esta casa.

The essence of pleasure lies in splitting yourself into more than one person.

porque nunca há piedade para os aleijados do espírito

To organise our life in such a way that it becomes a mystery to others, that those who are closest to us will only be closer to not knowing us. That is how I've shaped my life, almost without thinking about it, but I did it with so much instinctive art that even to myself I've become a not entirely clear and definite individual.

a mild indifference should protect our soul from the dull blows inflicted by our unavoidable coexistence with other people.

Yet my sadness is a comfort For it is natural and right And is what should fill the soul Whenever it thinks it exists

What we see isn't what we see but what we are.