Best 2380 quotes in «identity quotes» category

See, the world is narrowing. We each live in a bubble of attitude. Everything tailored for us. No happenstance, only what I already am and know. At a certain point I find my shape is less here.' A palm flat on his chest. 'More out there.' Laying the palm on his keyboard.

See over there, I can be me, he says. I smile but it makes me sad. I haven't found any safe spaces. Damien says, you're safe with me. Until I'm not. He raises an eyebrow. With you I mean, I add. I dream about an internship on the West Coast, but there is nothing for me to do. I am not the president's daughter. I've never met a movie star. I barely watch television.

SELFHOOD AND DISSOCIATION The patient with DID or dissociative disorder not otherwise specified (DDNOS) has used their capacity to psychologically remove themselves from repetitive and inescapable traumas in order to survive that which could easily lead to suicide or psychosis, and in order to eke some growth in what is an unsafe, frequently contradictory and emotionally barren environment. For a child dependent on a caregiver who also abuses her, the only way to maintain the attachment is to block information about the abuse from the mental mechanisms that control attachment and attachment behaviour.10 Thus, childhood abuse is more likely to be forgotten or otherwise made inaccessible if the abuse is perpetuated by a parent or other trusted caregiver. In the dissociative individual, ‘there is no uniting self which can remember to forget’. Rather than use repression to avoid traumatizing memories, he/she resorts to alterations in the self ‘as a central and coherent organization of experience. . . DID involves not just an alteration in content but, crucially, a change in the very structure of consciousness and the self’ (p. 187).29 There may be multiple representations of the self and of others. Middleton, Warwick. "Owning the past, claiming the present: perspectives on the treatment of dissociative patients." Australasian Psychiatry 13.1 (2005): 40-49.

Self-image can be improved by gaining new hobbies and skills. The basis of this is: in order to love oneself, one must be someone worth loving. It is easy to feel upset about one’s body if one spends all their time watching Netflix or cruising Facebook. To feel good about oneself, one must improve themselves and take their focus and apply it to things outside themselves.

Semantic search requires three things: Trust, Authority and Reputation. All three revolve around your digital profiles, their activity and the sentiment levels and engagement that each generates. Semantic search also requires differentiation – the ability of search to understand the “uniqueness” of you.

Self under self, a pile of selves I stand Threaded on time, and with metaphysic hand Lift the farm like a lid and see Farm within farm, and in the centre, me.

Sé una cuerda para mi guitarra, agua. Los conquistadores han llegado y los antiguos conquistadores han pasado. Es difícil que recuerde mi cara en los espejos. Sé mi memoria y veré lo que he perdido. كُنْ لِجيتارَتي وَتَراً أَيُّها ٱلْماءُ؛ قَدْ وَصَلَ ٱلْفاتِحُون وَمَضى ٱلْفاتِحونَ ٱلْقُدَامَى. مِنَ ٱلصَّعْبِ أَنْ أَتَذَكَّرَ وَجْهِي ...في ٱلْمَرَايَا. فَكُنْ أَنْتَ ذَاكِرَتِي كَيْ أَرى ما فَقَدْت

Sexuality is one of the most important ways in which we identify, establish, and maintain our boundaries.

She breathes all the political gases that flow around this, but she never seems to inhale them.

She couldn't know anyone, but someone still needed her. She couldn't be anyone, but she could still love.

She fixed a smile that she hoped looked authentic. Pretending to be content continued to be hard work.

She had generated alternative versions of herself. She had insisted at brutal cost on these conversions. Layering her life, only to strip it bare. Only to be alone in the end. Her life had been paired down to its solitary components.

She had performed as a shape-shifter with no sense of identity.

She isn't like any of the girls I ever knew, or any of the girls I was myself.

She knew where she stood, when she stood among books.

She means it doesn't come off, Dana... The black. She means the devil with people who say you're anything but what you are.

She resented being told constantly that she was stupid, when she knew she wasn't.

She said to herself: 'Is not the gown the natural raiment of extremity? What nation, what religion, what ghost, what dream has not worn it—infants, angels, priests, the dead; why—should not the doctor, in the grave dilemma of his alchemy, wear his dress?' She thought: 'He dresses to lie beside himself, who is so constructed that love, for him, can be only something special; in a room that giving back evidence of his occupancy, is as mauled as the last agony.

She scraped her spoon around the bottom of the honey jar. She was aware, she said, that this was also a cultural malaise, but it had invaded her inner world to the extent that she felt herself summed up, and was beginning to question the point of continuing to exist day in and day out when 'Anne's life' just about covered it.

She sang lead, and I belted out the background voice that just repeated, "You're everything everything everything," and I felt like I was. You're both the fire and the water that extinguishes it. You're the narrator, the protagonist, and the sidekick. You're the storyteller and the story told. You are somebody's something, but you are also you.

She started to speak, but then stopped. Anything she could think of to say seemed a mistake. In fact, speech in general seemed a mistake. It struck her all at once that dealing with other human beings was an awful lot of work. from Back When We Were Grownups.

She thinks she is white,' they used to sneer, and that was as bad as a curse.

She thought, I need no cup. I am Chalice. I am filling with the grief and hurt and fear of my demesne; the shattered earthlines weigh me down; I am brimming with the needs of my people.

She waited with Billy Slick while Carrot went on the errand, and for something to say, she said, ‘Billy Slick doesn’t sound much like a goblin name?’ Billy made a face. ‘Too right! Granny calls me Of the Wind Regretfully Blown. What kind of name is that, I ask you? Who’s going to take you seriously with a name like that? This is modern times, right?’ He looked at her defiantly, and she thought: and so one at a time we all become human – human werewolves, human dwarfs, human trolls... the melting pot melts in one direction only, and so we make progress.

she was a different person when she sang. Her singing was a deep, yearning subconscious desire to go back to a time when the Nepali identity wasn't sullied by external forces.

She was the only child of an interracial couple, one half of which was disabled. When she was growing up, her straw-headed classmates asked her curtly, "What are you?

She would always believe that he was someone else, that he wasn't himself but some fanciful idea of a foreign person; she would always feel like she was someone special because she had condescended to be with someone everyone else hated. His presence would prove to the world that she was a good person, an educated person, a liberal person. Noa didn't care about being Korean when he was with her; in fact, he didn't care about being Korean or Japanese with anyone. He wanted to be, to be just himself; he wanted to forget himself sometimes. But that wasn't possible. It would never be possible with her.

She was tired of everyone deciding her life for her. She was ready to figure out who she really was--not what anyone else told her to be.

She was the same person I had known. Had always known. Just a version that was more completely her.

She would have to learn the lesson every day: that, sometimes, all that will define a person — instill within them dignity and purpose — all the human answers, are frozen in a few moments, a few days, and all the days to come are just a looking back.

She was right. After all, if she herself had wondered whether she was Indian enough -- she, who had always been to me a sort of epitome of Indian -- then who could be? Who could claim the sole right or way to an identity?

Slavery has been outlawed in most arab countries for years now but there are villages in jordan made up entirely of descendants of runaway Saudi slaves. Abdulrahman knows he might be free, but hes still an arab. No one ever wants to be the arab - its too old and too tragic, too mysterious and too exasperating, and too lonely for anyone but an actual arab to put up with for very long. Essentially, its an image problem. Ask anyone, Persian, Turks, even Lebanese and Egyptians - none of them want to be the arab. They say things like, well, really we're indo-russian-asian european- chaldeans, so in the end the only one who gets to be the arab is the same little old bedouin with his goats and his sheep and his poetry about his goats and his sheep, because he doesnt know that he's the arab, and what he doesnt know wont hurt him.

Show me your books and I will tell you who you are.

Since the end of the postwar economic boom, certain strategies have been intensified to stimulate consumption, especially strategies aimed at American youth that project sexual activity as instant fulfillment and violence as the locus of machismo identity. This market activity has contributed greatly to the disorientation and confusion of American youth, and those with less education and fewer opportunities bear the brunt of this cultural chaos.

Sleep is where we touch what is better left unexamined. There, the whole of life is bundled up, dwindled. There the carefully hoarded and enjoyed personality, our only treasure and at the same time our only defense must die into the ultimate truth of things, the black lightning that splits and destroys all, the positive, unquestionable nothingness.

Sich mit diesem oder jenem zu identifizieren, ist also ein normaler Vorgang. Gefährlich wird es, sobald eine einzige Identität bestimmend wird, sobald man nur noch Muslim ist oder Christ oder Deutscher, Iraner oder meinetwegen Anhänger eines bestimmten Fußballclubs oder eines Popstars. Dann wird aus der pragmatischen Einschränkung, die jede Art von Identifizierung bedeutet, eine reale Verstümmelung der Persönlichkeit.

Silence has built walls, walls that I attempt to break by pedaling faster, only to be imprisoned a hundred feet down the road.

(...) słowo "etnopatologia" stało się jego ulubionym terminem - pod koniec życia uzywał go często i z wyraźną przyjemnością. Termin też oznaczał dla niego pewne etniczne zakrzywienia, wzajemne przenikanie i wpływy - krótko mówiąc pewną krzywiznę, "nieprawidłowości" lokalnej przestrzeni etnograficznej. W tej części świata (Kłakocki w swoich tekstach nazywał ją zawsze Północną Sarmatią, zaś w rozmowach prywatnych Wielkim Szpitalem) nie ma nic określonego raz na zawsze: człowiek kładzie się spać jako Bałt, a budzi jako Słowianin, wychodzi z domu jako Polak, wraca jako Niemiec; otoczenie wciąż usiłuje mu wmówić, kim jest i kim być nie może. Oczywiście, większość zdrowo myślących ludzi w całym tym zamieszaniu podaje się za "tutejszych". Kłakocki, które całe swoje życie poświęcił fascynacjom początkowo polskim, litewskim i żmudzkim, w końcu zaś, ostatecznie już, białoruskim pragnął nieco zmienić tę perspektywę: chciał być wszystkimi naraz.

Slowly, but steadily, my feelings did start to change- feelings about myself as a woman and feelings about what sexuality really is and what it really isn't. I -like most everyone who identified as gay or lesbian -felt very comfortable, very at home in mu body in my lesbianism. One doesn't repent for a sin of identity in one session. Sins of identity have multiple dimensions, and throughout this journey, I have come to my pastor and his wife, friends in the Lord, and always to the Lord himself with different facets of my sin. I don't mean different incidents or examples of the same sin, but different facets of sin -how pride, for example, informed my decision-making, or how my unwillingness to forgive others had landlocked my heart in bitterness. I have walked this journey with help. There is no other way to do it I still walk this journey with help.

Social class positioning influences all aspects of everyday interaction – how to talk, if to talk and when, whom to trust, whether or not to plan or risk, what can or cannot be done, how to belong, and who to be. Of course, how people respond to these social interactions depends on how social class intersects with the meanings and practices associated with other significant sociocultural categories (gender, race, ethnicity, age, cohort, religion, geography, sexual orientation) that also influence psychological tendencies.

Society is a collection of selves perpetuating their myth.

Socrates: Yes mercy and grace are all linked with Love. Let your tears of gratitude wash away the dark dirt of ignorance obscuring your own dear Self which is Love. Charmides: So Love has nothing to do with lust then? Socrates: No! Lust is from the selfish false sense of a ‘me’ desperate for some pleasurable, momentary relief from its anguish and boredom. Love is refined, and her amorous advances are from the spirit, not the body.

So I say a name, even if self-bestowed, is better than a number. In the register of the potter's field I shall soon have both. What wealth!

So many of us go through life with our stories hidden, feeling ashamed or afraid when our whole truth doesn't live up to some established ideal. We grow up with messages that tell us there's only one way to be American -- that if our skin is dark or our hips are too wide, if we don't experience love in a particular way, if we speak another language or come from a different country, then we don't belong. That is, until someone dares to start telling that story differently. (From Becoming, 2018)

Sky at night shows how vast the universe is, beyond the limit, filled with exuberant bodies, always evoking incertitude purpose of existense and one's identity, then i realize, im just a soul with no identity living a character in limitless scenes.

Some people think the real them is whoever they are when they're not around other people.

Some people unfold into a thousand words and others never speak to me at all, never take the blame at all, never look at me at all – I wonder why he never looks at me at all (perhaps he cannot bear to meet my eyes).

Sometimes the boxes we’re put in fit. Other times, we find ourselves shoved into places too confining for our growing sense of self.

Something now leaves me; something goes from me to meet that figure who is coming, and assures me that I know him before I see who it is. How curiously one is changed by the addition, even at a distance, of a friend. How useful an office one's friends perform when they recall us. Yet how painful to be recalled, to be mitigated, to have one's self adulterated, mixed up, become part of another. As he approaches I become not myself but Neville mixed with somebody - with whom? - with Bernard? Yes, it is Bernard, and it is to Bernard that I shall put the question, Who am I?

Sometimes I still feel that there are two of me: one clean, flawless picture, the other imperfect and cracked; one boy, one girl; one voice that speaks aloud and one that whispers in my ear; one publicly known to have been troubled but be on the mend, the other who has privately lost something to do with innocence and gained something to do with knowledge and adulthood that can never be undone. I feel sometimes there are things that tear me in two directions, that there are two sets of thoughts that grow side by side. But then I realize that I am whole, whatever that means and does not mean; I am complete without the need for additions or alteration.