Quotes About Introspection

For me, this is old. I probably know what is happening better than he does because I've tried over and over to wreck myself on another human, and always failed. I fail now. For it seems that my sorrow is deep in my bones and I'd have to break every single one to let it out.

I was the sort of kid who spent a Sunday afternoon prying little trees out of the foundation of his parents' house. I should have given in to the inevitable truth that this was the sort of person I would become, in the end, but I kept fighting it.

They stood inside their own quiet like a pocket.

Whenever his ambition was about to devour him, his conscience urged restraint.

seemed quite content to sit in silence sometimes and not try to entertain each other.

Those are the only things which really seem to do him any good.

always inner-directed and indifferent to the approval of others

Never sure of himself, Junior plodded ahead, always wondering where he was heading.

Even as he scared people away, he was a lonely man

If anything, he craved seclusion.

Life was a serious business to me when I was young.

I observed that he spoke very little indeed, and always in a low and quiet voice.

As Grant later confessed to his wife in frank exasperation, "You know I have an 'S' in my name and don't know what it stand[s] for.

His tightly compressed lips expressed a fierce determination and a guarded nature.

Since I don't know where I'm going, I guess I'm in no real hurry to get there.

Dark night of the soul," said Jesus, "Happens to everybody sooner or later.

He carries what he feels for people deep inside. Even as a kid he was that way," Aunt Margaret said. "Your momma knows that." But I had wondered then as I did now what good love was that couldn't be expressed.

One guy has his head on a table, eyes closed, vomit drooling from his mouth. Another pulls out his false teeth and clamps them on the ear of a gal at the next table. An immense woman in a purple jumpsuit is crying while another woman screams at her. And what I'm thinking is maybe it's time to halt all human reproduction. Let God or evolution or wathever put us here in the first place start again from scratch, because this isn't working.

He was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he has left, yet does not say 'The town is near,' but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges, Thomas Wolfe declares at the end of Look Homeward, Angel, and those words I spoke aloud to the bathroom mirror that summer, and thought of Wolfe in New York, writing between journeys to the West, and of Hemingway traveling from Paris cafés to African veldts. "YOU'RE

I'm glad I can still sometimes drug my senses with a book.

In a gloomy corner, she's still quite pretty.

But I'm so tired, Winsome said, of Meeting other people. I want other people to meet me.

Lo dice Sylvia Plath en sus diarios: «Soy ese tipo de mujer que, cuando empieza a llover [...], solo puede pensar en ventanas abiertas, ventanas de coche, ventanas de una segunda planta, ventanas por todas partes abiertas mientras la lluvia cae a raudales [...] echando a perder irremediablemente la madera, el papel de las paredes, los libros y los muebles».

Aprendí que la mirada implacable con la que nos fileteamos y descuartizamos y despreciamos las mujeres es una mirada nuestra, una mirada interna, una exigencia loca con la que nosotras mismas nos esclavizamos