Quotes About Soul-searching

I also have my crochet. It dates from when I began to think. Stitch on stitch forming a whole without a whole … A cloth, and I don't know if it's for a garment or for nothing. A soul, and I don't know if it's for feeling or living. What

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

I am tired of myself in every way. All things, deep down to the secret of their roots, are stained by the color of my weariness. —Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet . (Penguin Classics, 2002)

Parker sat for a long time on the ground in the alley behind the pool hall, examining his soul. He saw it as a spider web of facts and lies that was not at all important to him but which appeared to be necessary in spite of his opinion.

Woman! do you ever look inside? Do you ever look inside and see what you are not? God!

Without a musket to raise, a barricade to storm, a flag to wave, the question hit me in the face like the cold air: 'Who am I?'

My dream is to one day just be me and my guitar. I'm working myself to the core. Who am I, underneath everything else? I'm still on that journey, to find that core.

Then, once I have lyrics, being able to shape them around a song is nothing new for me, I've been doing that for 25 years. The soul searching part of it, the spontaneous part of it, that was, and remains, a really terrific process.

Testing oneself is best when done alone.

What you are is a question only you can answer.

It occurs to me that I am America. I am talking to myself again.

It's ironic, but until you can free those final monsters within the jungle of yourself, your life, your soul is up for grabs.

Private soul-searching is not enough to determine your call to the ministry. The judgment of the people of God must be sought; long before the time when it must be given formally it should be sought informally.

Su hábito de mirarse en los espejos no tiene nada que ver ni con quererse ni con gustarse. Siempre ha sido ni más ni menos que otro intento de aprender a saber quién carajos es él mismo

Another dark night of traveling through mountains ensued—and, surely, a dark night of the soul

Upon graduation, I hit a wall. All of my good friends from UCLA were taking on jobs they were passionate about, and I felt left behind. It took a bit of soul searching, but in the end, I finally had the guts to pursue acting.

The tremendous world I have inside my head. But how [to] free myself and free it without being torn to pieces. And a thousand times [I'd] rather be torn to pieces than rather it in me or bury it. That, indeed, is why I am here, that is quite clear to me.

I don't know one of my friends who is considered a conservative who has not had to go back and thoroughly think through everything. You do a lot of soul-searching - 'cause we are not going to win any popularity contests.

A sick toss'd vessel, dashing on each thing . . . My God, I mean myself.

I thought of myself as missing.

They were strangers to each other. If we were more thoughtful as a society—if we were willing to engage in some soul-searching about how we approach and make sense of strangers—she would not have ended up dead in a Texas jail cell.

It was late December 1938, and since then I have never been abroad, except maybe in my thoughts. And I shall never go. It's not because the Land of Israel is so wonderful, it's because I now believe that all journeys are ridiculous: the only journey from which you don't always come back empty-handed is the journey inside yourself.

Are you sad? Do you want me to leave? - I'm not sad, but I'm blocked. My whole past seems to stop me. I can't let go. I feel as if I can inhale but not exhale. I'm just constrained, unnatural.

No wonder I am rarely natural in life. Natural to what, true to which condition of soul, to which layer? How can I be sincere if each moment I must choose between five or six souls?