Quotes About Paranoia

You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinised.

Tenias que vivir dado por sentado que escuchaban hasta el ultimo sonido que hacias y que, observaban todos tus movimientos

It was almost normal for people over thirty to be frightened of their own children. And with good reason, for hardly a week passed in which the Times did not carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little sneak—"child hero" was the phrase generally used—had overheard some compromising remark and denounced his parents to the Thought Police.

WHAT WAS MORE, I ACTUALLY HAD A FEELING THAT THEY WERE AFTER ME ALREADY. THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM! ALL THE PEOPLE WHO COULDN'T UNDERSTAND WHY A MIDDLE-AGED MAN WITH FALSE TEETH SHOULD SNEAK AWAY FOR A QUIET WEEK IN THE PLACE WHERE HE SPENT HIS BOYHOOD. AND ALL THE MEAN-MINDED BASTARDS WHO COULD UNDERSTAND ONLY TOO WELL, AND WHO'D RAISE HEAVEN AND EARTH TO PREVENT IT. THEY WERE ALL ON MY TRACK.

In a time of danger, the person sounding the paranoid continual alarm will eventually be right. A voice arguing for our complete rightness and the complete wrongness of our enemies, a voice constantly broadening the definition of enemy, relieves us of the burden of living with ambiguity.

Women pay attention to how men drive because it's a good indicator of what kind of character you have. They want someone who's going to be intelligent and cautious and assertive and confident when you need to be, but not overly aggressive and reckless, and also not timid and overly paranoid.

In an era of parental paranoia, lawsuit mania and testing frenzy, we are failing to inspire our children's curiosity, creativity, and imagination. We are denying them opportunities to tinker, discover, and explore - in short, to play.

I have Googled so many things related to possible diseases, and it's always ridiculous. Like, 'My toe is hurting. Do I have cancer?' 'I have a scratch in my eye. Am I going to die soon?' 'Is eating a soup going to make me die?'

Preferable to accepting one's insignificance is imagining the others hate you.

I see things differently. Rocks look suspicious to me as do certain hubcaps. Paranoia seeps through my pores, it's just a part of me. Truthfully, I don't know what to say anymore. My body is a piece of art; I don't care about external scars, it's the internal ones I live with and Satan dances towards me.

The members of our secret service have apparently spent so much time under the bed looking for communists that they haven't had the time to look in the bed.

I was clinically depressed. I was paranoid. I was agoraphobic. I would have days at a time of not being able to even bathe or brush my teeth.

It used to be that I was always paranoid or a loser or something so there's usually something that you seem to associate yourself with at one time or another.

I carry around such a load of non-specific guilt that every time the metal detector beeps, I always have a wild fear that this trip I absent-mindedly packed a Luger.

I guess it was exciting that every time I pulled up to the gate of my house, I wondered if someone was going to jump out of the bush and stab me in the face.

You know how it is when you go to be the subject of a psychology experiment and nobody else shows up and you think maybe that's part of the experiment? I'm like that all the time.

Well, it only dawned on me about six months ago that not everybody's against me all the time. It was something of a revelation.

I have a very hard time picturing myself in a room with some type of goo oozing out of an air vent and killing me; that doesn't really scare me because I don't think that's going to happen to me.

When you spend all your time worrying that the devil is right behind you, eventually you start seeing him whether he's there or not.

I was back to being polite, the well-tempered paranoid. I didn't have much of a choice. If I wasn't polite, they could stick me with those needles or put me back in that little room or take away my visitor privileges or any number of other things. Besides, there didn't seem to be any urgency or anything to be gained by not being polite, the way there had been before. So I was polite. There was time.

The Doc. Virginia and Simon had told me that Dr. Dale was my doctor. I have a fuzzy recollection of walking up to some doctor-looking person and being totally absorbed by his gold tie clip. I suspected it was the button to end the world so I didn't touch it. I'm pretty sure it was Dr. Dale. I don't know who else would be so tasteless as to walk around a mental hospital wearing the button to end the world.

I was back to being polite, the well-tempered paranoid. I didn't have much choice. If I wasn't polite, they could stick me with those needles or put me back in that little room or take away my visitor privileges or any number of other things. Besides, there didn't seem any urgency or anything to be gained by not being polite, the way there had been before. So I was polite. There was time.

Eleven-year-old paranoia was powerful. Eleven-year-old relief was euphoric.

caughtoutedness. Some examples: People jumping out of alleys. Schoolteachers suddenly being aware of every sin you've ever committed. Police showing up at the door each time a leaf turns or a distant gate slams shut.