Quotes About Introspection

The idea that our unconscious possesses such sure aim excited me. I became more attuned to my own erroneously carried out actions.

I'm sure these things are true. But the way she says them feels like an implied criticism. As if she's comparing her own selflessness to my self-absorption. But of course that's just evidence of my self-absorption. My mother is probably not thinking anything like this. In fact, my desire to think that she's thinking of me at all is a bit pathetic.

From their example, I learnt quickly to feed myself. It was a vicious circle, though. The more gratification we found in our geniuses, the more isolated we grew...And indeed, if our family was a sort of artists' colony, could it not be even more accurately described as a mildly autistic colony? Our selves were all we had.

Too many doubts grow in the cracks of silence and separation.

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.' Soren Kierkegaard

Music is the refuge of the lonely.

Khudi ko kar buland itna ke har taqder se pehle Khuda bande se khud pooche bata teri raza kya hai.

Halle thinks your imagination is something you can put on like a jacket or pick up like a spoon—but Sam's imagination is private! You don't use your actual imagination for homework. It's like telling wishes.

He could explain away the mechanical, but the inner workings of the soul eluded him

porque crean una distracción. Siempre nos concentramos en las razones por las que no deberíamos de fumar, pero nunca analizamos las razones por las que fumamos. La verdadera pregunta es: '¿Por qué necesitamos hacerlo?

It's best to keep one's resentment to oneself.

The great unspoken paradox of the arduous process of psychoanalysis is that the best patients are the ones who never really needed it in the first place. Abnormal

Follow your inner moonlight, don't hide the madness.

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit- man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!

The whole blear world of smoke and twisted steel around my head in a railroad car, and my mind wandering past the rust into futurity: I saw the sun go down in a carnal and primeval world, leaving darkness to cover my railroad train because the other side of the world was waiting for dawn.

I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.

I have just discovered that I have no feelings, just thoughts, borrowed thoughts taken from someone I admire because he seems to have feelings.

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

Naked in solitary prison cell he looks down at a hard-on.

I write poetry because I want to be alone and want to talk to people.

who sought heaven under a mountain of stone, sat thinking till he realized the land of blessedness exists in the imagination -

Without even intending it, there is that little shiver of a moment in time preserved in the crystal cabinet of the mind. A little shiver of internal space. That's what I was looking for.

My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.

I smoke marijuana every chance I get.