Quotes About Introspection

And whatever troubled him and showed in his face might have been the same old trouble - the problem of occupying space in the world and having a name people could call you by, being somebody they thought they could know.

Her silent singing wrapped around the story she was telling herself, which she extended further every night on the deck. (Averill often told herself stories-- the activity seemed to her as unavoidable as dreaming.) Her singing was a barrier set between the world in her head and the world outside, between her body and the onslaught of the stars.

People have thoughts they'd sooner not have. It happens in life.

I went on to say that no lies, after all, were as strong as the lies we tell ourselves and then unfortunately have to keep telling to make the whole puke stay down in our stomachs, eating us alive, as he would find out soon enough.

The work of poetry that it seemed she had been doing in her head for most of her life.

I gave him a gentle uncomprehending look in return. I am a grown-up woman now; let him unbury his own catastrophes.

I looked at the rusty-bottomed bread tin swiped too often by the dishcloth, and the pots sitting on the stove, washed but not put away, and the motto supplied by Fairholme Dairy: The Lord is the Heart of Our House. All these things stupidly waiting for the day to begin and not knowing that it had been hollowed out by catastrophe.

For some reason he thinks of Diane in her unbecoming red ski jacket and decides that her life is her life, there is not much use worrying about it. And he thinks of his wife, pretending to laugh at the television. Her quietness.

She thought back to what he had said. /I could make you very happy./ It was something men said then, when they were trying to persuade you, and that was what they meant. It seemed rash and sweeping to her, dazzling but *presumptuous*. She had to try to see herself, then, as somebody who could be /made happy/. The whole worrying, striving, complicated bundle of her -- was that something that could just be picked up and /made happy/?

Y Doree se preguntó por qué tenía que importarle lo que Maggie pensara. Maggie era una extraña, ni siquiera se sentía a gusto con ella. Fue Lloyd quien lo dijo, y tenía razón.

In quel momento la nostra dolcezza reciproca era senza nubi, senza strategie, e i nostri conflitti sembravano irreali. Si era aperto un cancello, molto probabilmente, ma noi non lo varcammo. (La dama spagnola)

Mi spiegò che, essendo possibile soffrire solo guardando indietro al proprio passato, oppure avanti, al futuro, lei aveva risolto il problema isolando l'esperienza di ogni istante: ogni singolo istante, disse, era carico di un silenzio assoluto. Ci ho provato, sono disposta a provare di tutto, ma non ho capito come funziona.

Takich okresów nie tyle siÄ™ ?aÅ'owaÅ'o, ile siÄ™ je skreÅ›laÅ'o. I wydawaÅ'o mi siÄ™, ?e teraz jakaÅ› cz??? mnie - chora cz???? - zostaÅ'a skreÅ›lona. (...) ZahibernowaÅ'am siÄ™ i wegetowaÅ'am w postaci dawnego ja: upartego jak osioÅ', niekobiecego, nieracjonalnie skrytego. (...) Nie byÅ'am dziwolÄ…giem. ByÅ'am normalna.

Ch?ng ph?i h?u h?t con ng??i ai cÅ©ng c?m th?y th?, không lúc này thì cÅ©ng lúc kia? Cô Ä'Æ¡n và b?t h?nh?

I don't take up the story and follow it as if it were a road, taking me somewhere... I go into it, and move back and forth and settle here and there, and stay in it for a while. It is more like a house. Alice Munro on reading.

I used to be a devil myself.

What made you wanted was nothing you did, it was something that you had, and how could you ever tell whether you had it?

Isn't it true that all the people I know in the world so far are hardly more than puppets for me, serving the glossy contrivings of my imagination?

I was thinking myself about changing into a different sort of person from the one I am. I do think about that. I read a book called The Art of Loving. A lot of things seemed clear while I was reading it but afterwards I went back to being more or less the same.

for me to say." He smiled; he shook his head. "I don't

I was the girl he had chosen to kiss. He wanted, somehow to set me free. He didn't want to burn my photo or toss it away, but he didn't want to look at me anymore, either.

She sat in her room on the couch my parents had given up on and worked on hardening herself. Take deep breaths and hold them. Try to stay still for longer and longer periods of time. Make yourself small and like a stone. Curl the edges of yourself up and fold them under where no one can see. ~pg 29, Susie's sister Lindsey dealing with grief.

Every day a question mark.

After telling the hard facts to anyone from lover to friend, I have changed in their eyes. Often it is awe or admiration, sometimes it is repulsion, once or twice it has been fury hurled directly at me for reasons I remain unsure of.