Best 2380 quotes in «identity quotes» category

How much of my body is really me? My face is me, for sure. Anyone who looked at my face would know it was me. (...) But after that? If I showed myself a picture of myself from the shoulders down, would I be sure it was me? (...) I close my eyes and ask myself what my feet look like. I only kind of know. (...) I let it define me, but I can't even define it.

how lovers alter in the glance of each other, that space where their moods are accepted and their surrender is never taken advantage of.

How she would push her identity further down into a cacophony of fiend-infested darkness where she couldn't hear her proper voice anymore, just pleasing those who demanded a distorted version of her.

How's my hair? Is there trouble in the west wing? (Refers to large curls.) These are actually my lungs. My Aquanet lungs. They kick in on the high notes.

How would I know which one I was?

Humans pursuing deep, complete connections respond to quite different incentives from those that influence self-interested utility maximizers. Rewards, monitoring, and punishments are less likely to be effective than engagement, communication, norms, socialization, identity, and common purpose. They share not out of a calculation of reciprocity but from a psychological pleasure in sharing. Those seeking connections make decisions from their hearts as well as their heads, influenced by emotion, fairness, empathy, and intuition. Their behavior, thoughts, feelings, and even personal attributes are highly socially contingent. The range of humanity includes individuals who display every possible combination of selfishness and sociability.

Humikab ang dagat na parang leon masarap sanang tumalon pero BAWAL MAGTAPON NG BASURA sabi ng alon.

I am a complicated person with a simple life and I am the reason for everything that ever happened to me.

I am a complicated person with a simple life.

I am a cultural Frankenstein

I am a cultural Frankinstein

I am a living breathing word of GOD.

I am a worried person with a stressed out soul, living a simple life with no capital.

I am constantly torn between the will to be seen and still hidden so god damn well, a contradiction I never figured out.

I am everything what u see and I can be anything what I want to be.

I am forty. [...] I know who I am. The treachery of possibilities that threaten to swamp a young guy -- I negotiated them. I'm on the other side. The safe side. Why then do I remember the perilous moments with such fond affection?

I am living a simple life with a complicated mind and I have yet to find a state of mind where I feel safe with who I am, where I am, with what I do.

I am me and I have been Juliette and both of us have dreamed this dream repeatedly. And what makes this dream so unfortunate is that it is a true thing that happened to someone else ... who is both of us.

I am myself when I get up, I am myself throughout the day and I am myself when I go back to sleep, you probably might have met someone else when I was asleep and claimed it to be changed me.

I am not a thing. I am not your possession. I am a human being." - CBI Agent Sam Rose

I am neither I nor the other one I am something in between

I am not a neurotic!" "You're trembling with nerves and sensibility—" "Of course I am, I'm an artist!

I am not a human being enjoying a spiritual life, I am a spiritual being enjoying a human life.

I AM NOT A WAITER. I HAVE BEEN A STUDENT, A SCIENTIST, A SOLDIER, MY WIFE IS CALLED ALSANA, WE LIVE IN EAST LONDON BUT WE WOULD LIKE TO MOVE NORTH. I AM A MUSLIM BUT ALLAH HAS FORSAKEN ME OR I HAVE FORSAKEN ALLAH, I'M NOT SURE. I HAVE A FRIEND—ARCHIE—AND OTHERS. I AM FORTY-NINE BUT WOMEN STILL TURN IN THE STREET. SOMETIMES. (3.81)

I am not and autobiographical writer--one can't be without a solid and explicable self--and read all autobiographical writers with the same curiosity. What kind of life permits a person the right to become his own subject?

I am not one and simple, but complex and many.

I am not the number or beautiful face on your black board as you want to give identity to me ! I am me . I am my identity .

I am not myself. My thoughts are tangled in words that are not my own.

I am two people. One goes through the motions, rolling from one thing to the next; the other is withdrawn, watching a complete stranger.

I am persuaded that a coldly-thought-out and independent verdict upon a fashion in clothes, or manners, or literature, or politics, or religion, or any other matter that is projected into the field of our notice and interest, is a most rare thing -- if it has indeed ever existed.

I am what I am, It makes me I;

I ask the ladies what we lose with each generation. They seem to agree: usually language goes first, then memories of relatives and grandparents, then traditions, then longing for home, then a sense of identity. What do we have left? A wedding ritual, a few old photos? For me, what is left is our connection to food. Our food traditions are the last thing we hold on to. They are not just recipes; they are a connection to the nameless ancestors who gave us our DNA. That's why our traditional foods are so important. The stories, the memories, the movements that have been performed for generations - without them, we lose our direction.

I can be anything you want but definitely not a wannabe.

I begin to learn there are certain things I shouldn't tell her. Like when we meet boys at Dorrian's and I give mine a blow job, or the time I messed around with a boy in the back near the bathrooms. Amy wants to be intimate with boys too, but to her this kind of conduct is slutty. I suppose it is. She, like most girls, including the Jennifers, has a different relationship to boys than I do. She engages in sexual acts with them if she wants, but from my vantage point it looks like she can take them or leave them if they are not just right. She considers whether she actually likes someone before she jumps into bed with him. She isn't wracked with anxiety when there aren't any boys around. And she doesn't need them to live, which is what it feels like for me.

Boys will be boys, that's what people say. No one ever mentions how girls have to be something other than themselves altogether. We are to stifle the same feelings that boys are encouraged to display. We are to use gossip as a means of policing ourselves -- this way those who do succumb to sex but are not damaged by it are damaged instead by peer malice. Girls demand a covenant because if one gives in, others will be expected to do the same. We are to remain united in cruelty, ignorance, and aversion. Or we are to starve the flesh from our bones, penalizing the body for its nature, castigating ourselves for advances we are powerless to prevent. We are to make false promises then resist the attentions solicited. Basically we are to become expert liars.

I cannot take credit for the fact that I do not have the soul of a psychopath.

I can see us there still," he said, "for those were moments so intense that in a way we will be living them always, while other things are completely forgotten. Yet there is no particular story attached to them," he said, "despite their place in the story I have just told you. That time spent swimming in the pool beneath the waterfall belongs nowhere: it is part of no sequence of events, it is only itself, in a way that nothing our life before as a family was ever itself, because it was always leading to the next thing and the next, was always contributing to our story of who we were.

I can't speak to whether vegetarianism is healthy. But as Alcott realized, it offers something that other diets cannot: an identity. Once can be a vegetarian, while most other diets are something one can do. He recognized that a diet wasn't merely how one ate, but how one lived.

I believe he was feeling a bit nervous. Possibly it was my costume that took him aback. I was dressed quite well, even elegantly, and looked as if I belonged to the best society.

I believe in you my friend, so much so, that if any of my ideas make you feel belittled in any manner, I want you to rise against me and throw my work into the fire. Any notion, any book, any institution that weakens the self instead of strengthening it, must be discarded at ones.

I cannot love my neighbour as myself because you bid me do him no harm, and I cannot love my enemies because they keep crawling inside me and tearing out all my emotions: if I am made in your image then you are not somebody I want to see because why believe in the broken, why depend on the weak, why seek the lost and bewildered whose only answer is “please”?

I can't blame you for trying to categorize me. It's a human instinct. It's why scientists are, to this day, completely flabbergasted by the duck-billed platypus: it's furry like a mammal, but lays eggs like a bird. It defies conventional classification. I AM THE PLATYPUS (Coo coo ka-choo)

Citizen is one of those books that reminds me that black life is often like walking a balance beam: It requires strategy and concentration for stability is so fleeting.

Ich bin die Asche einer Glut, die ich nicht war.

Closed mouths don't get fed While I couldn't yet articulate a concept like representation, I identified with Grace's compulsion to emulate... It was the same yearning I felt to emulate Tyra Banks... Oprah Winfrey... They showed me how I could expand when I didn't feel like enough. I didn't have to be just like them, but their quiet guidance and encouragement afforded me space. In simply being themselves, they widened the room. -- "Amazing Grace" by Carla Bruce-Eddings

I couldn't blame anyone for what was in me, because I am, like everyone, populated entirely by myself.

Identity is theft, don’t trust anyone whose state vector hasn’t forked for more than a gigasecond, change is the only constant, et bloody cetera.

Identity is not the face, Identity is not the trait, Neither is it the success pace, Nor is it the personality grace. Let alone it being your cliché phrase, Or did you think, It’s some religious faith? My child, it’s alarming that it’s none, It’s even not tongue, Then how can it be, what problems you have overcome And the person you have become!

Identity was everything, but it seemed I never had one. (Jessica)

Identity was just a box people liked to put themselves in, a mast to tether to in a storm, a security blanket.