Best 2380 quotes in «identity quotes» category

For ever after, you will be glad you did what you wanted instead of what everyone else expected. No doubt you wonder how someone as young as I can possibly know this, but trust me: I have seen more deadly, dark, and … lovely things than you can possibly imagine.

For determining the rational and the irrational, we employ not only our estimates of the value of external things, but also the criterion of that which is in keeping with one's own character. (Book I.2, 17p)

Forget who you are and why you're here-all that foolishness. In the woods the bushes are full of blueberries; go and pick some.

Forget culture. Forget religion. Forget nationality. All that superficial stuff. Dig deep. and you will find that you are just you, and I am just me.

Forget who you are, your inner life, and go with a friend to pick wild blueberries in the forest.

Forget the face of God, and forget your own name is Beloved.

For homeland is something embalmed in someone else’s memory, or it is a symbol, both close to the heart and a stranger you reach for in the middle of the night.

For it was through books that she felt her life to be unjudged Look at all of the great mix-ups, messes, confinement, and double-dealings in Shakespeare, she thought.Identities disguised continually, in a combative dance of illusion and discovery.

For if there are (at a venture) seventy-six different times all ticking in the mind at once, how many different people are there not - Heaven help us _ all having lodgement at one time or another in the human spirit? Some say two thousand and fifty two. So that it is the most usual thing in the world for a person to call, directly they are alone...Come, come! I'm sick to death of this particular self. I want another. But it is not altogether plain sailing either...these selves of which we are built up, one on top of another, as plates are piled up on a waiter's hand, have attachments elsewhere, sympathies, little constitutions and rights of their own...so that one will only come if it is raining....another if you can promise it a glass of wine - and so on...

For my relationships with men to change, I needed to change my relationship to myself as a woman.

For the first time I began to perceive that true sympathy cannot be switched on and off like an electric current, that anyone that identifies himself with the fate of another is robbed to some extent of his own freedom.

For the sake of all the others who are like you, but less strong and less gifted perhaps, many of them, it's up to you to have the courage to make good.

For those of us who are told our families are wrong, we can question more strongly what we believe is right.

Frankly, I believe that identity is what's inside us.

Freedom within is embodied in things as well as people. Like coins tossed into a wishing well, they contain our hopes and dreams.

[...] freier Wille und Schicksal sind nichts als Illusion, falsche Gegensätze, Trostpflaster. Letzten Endes sind sie sogar ein und dasselbe: ein einziger Prozess. Man wählt, was man wählt, es könnte nie anders sein: Die Entscheidung ist das Schicksal. Das Ergebnis ist von Anfang an bestimmt, jede Alternative, die man in Erwägung zieht, nur eine absurde Ausflucht, denn es liegt in unserer Natur, eher die eine als die andere Entscheidung zu fällen. Ebendies bedeutet Identität. Von Freiheit und Bestimmung zu reden ist abwegig, da dies suggeriert, es gebe etwas außerhalb von einem selbst, das das Leben bestimmte, obwohl es letztlich doch allein darauf hinausläuft: Identität – Kunsthandwerk der Seele.

Frightened that you'll be overcome by yourself? That a gentle monster inside of you might take over and never let go?

From an anthropological perspective, identities are neither fixed nor inherent, but are created and reproduced continuously through social practice and in interaction with others.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: Jan 7 at 7:23 AM Subject: Re: Really? On the Tumblr-you mean creeksecrets? ..... But I really don't think I'm wrong. Jacques a dit. Right? -Blue So, Yeah, I've been careless. I guess I left a trail of clues. and I shouldn't be surprised that Blue put them together. Maybe I kind of wanted him to. Jacques a dit is "Simon Says" in French, by the way, And it's obviously not as clever as I thought it was.

Furthermore, I refuse to wear a burqa. Of all the burdens they've put on us, that's the most degrading. The Shirt of Nessus woudn't do as much damage to my dignity as that wretched getup. It cancels my face and takes away my identity and turns me into an object. Here, at least, I'm me Zunaira, Mohsen Ramat's wife, age thirty-two, former magistrate, dismissed by obscurantists without a hearing and without compensation, but with enough self-respect left to brush my hair every day and pay attention to my clothes. If I put that damned veil on, I'm neither a human being nor an animal, I'm just an affront, a disgrace, a blemish that has to be hidden. That's too hard to deal with. Especially for someone who was a lawyer, who worked for women's rights. Please, I don't want you to think for a minute that I'm putting on some sort of act. I'd like to, you know, but unfortunately my heart's not in it anymore. Don't ask me to give up my name, my features, the color of my eyes, and the shape of my lips so I can take a walk through squalor and desolation. Don't ask me to become something less than a shadow, an anonymus thing rustling around in a hostile place.

Gavin couldn’t meet their eyes. “I’m not the man you think I am,” he said very quietly. “Are you the man I’ve served these past ten years?” Ironfist asked. “I am.” “Then perhaps, my lord, you’re not the man you think you are.

Genealogy itself is something of a privilege, coming far more easily to those of us for whom enslavement, conquest, and dispossession of our land has not been our lot.

Get rid of all that societal and cultural baggage. The true self is no one.

Gilly had decided that this was a dream. The Witches' Carnival didn't exist in the real world. And the Gilly who existed in the real world was not brave or cunning enough to have done everything that she'd done in the past day. The real Gilly was not beautiful enough to be lying in bed beside a woman like Maggie. Gilly had decided this was a dream, and also that she'd let that real Gilly, deep asleep somewhere in the outskirts of Birmingham, wither away and never wake up. Already, Gilly could see herself arcing across the earth bright as a comet, moving too fast for the Ashleys and Tracyes, the thousand tiny insults and humiliations of the waking world, to ever catch.

Getting to know who you are is the most essential information that you can find out about yourself

Given that the Bible speaks of God and humanity in the same breath, our view of Jesus Christ is inseparable from the understanding we have of ourselves.

Good Being is knowing who in fact we are; and in order to know who in fact we are, we must first know, moment by moment, who we think we are and what this bad habit of thought compels us to feel and do. A moment of clear and complete knowledge of what we think we are, but in fact are not, puts a stop, for a moment, to the Manichean charade. If we renew, until they become a continuity, these moments of the knowledge of what we are not, we may find ourselves, all of a sudden, knowing who in fact we are.

God doesn't start out tasting like tutti-frutti and end up tasting like stinky socks...Love is good and love tastes like good.

God calls those who believe as: the chosen, the elect, daughters, heirs, a royal priesthood, His treasured possession. - Hidden Treasures

God has made you honorable (Isa. 43:4), being kings and priests, and enrolled you among the firstborn that are written in heaven. You have a place in His heart and will be honored that we might be to "the glory of his grace" [Eph. 1:6]. Your everlasting Father has marked you and set His stamp and seal on you and put a principle of life within you that you might love Him and live to Him.

He cements his existence in an echo of time, but the journey demands him to change. He cannot see; his identity is a mask. Nothing in this world stays the same. The path unveils our identity. Our identity is not created but revealed.

Hard and cruel though it may seem," said the Cardinal, "yet we, who hold our high office as keepers and watchmen to the story, may tell you, verily, that to its human characters there is salvation in nothing else in the universe. If you tell them -- you compassionate and accommodating human readers -- that they may bring their distress and anguish before any other authority, you will be cruelly deceiving and mocking them. For within our whole universe the story only has authority to answer that cry of heart of its characters, that one cry of heart of each of them: 'Who am I?

...he allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them them over and over again to give birth to themselves.

He'd lived so long in anticipation of his own death that to contemplate his future was like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into a vertiginous rush of open sky.

He had a serious look on his face. Our eyes met. 'No soy coreano, ni japonés, soy un nómada desarraigado,' he muttered. 'Huh?' 'It's Spanish. I always wanted to be a Spaniard.' I didn't reply. 'But it didn't work out. Turns out, it wasn't just about speaking the language.' 'Language has everything to do with your identity--' 'In theory maybe,' he said, cutting me off. 'But we live in circumstances that can't always be explained away by logic. You'll understand someday.

Group membership can modify individuals' perceptions of themselves. Unable to separate their personal introspection from the ways they believe other people perceive them, teenagers may have what psychologists call an "imaginary audience", meaning that they believed that other people are just as attuned to their appearance and behavior as they are.

He felt that race was not a characteristic that was a part of his identity, but one that was projected upon him by the gaze of others who looked on him; as such it was ephemeral, there and gone as soon as the gaze was broken.

He hams his Brummie accent, I tell myself, the way so many ex-pats ham their lost identity. The moustache is a pose. Yet, he hams this unpredictable matey belligerence, this curiously Midlands attitude. Colin is home away from home, I reflect, even if not the home you ever really liked.

Hell, is trying to do what you can't do, trying to be what you're not

He thought he vomited out his soul. If ghosts were made of ectoplasm and ghosts were basically souls without bodies, then it was perfectly logical that the green mess all over the ground was his ectoplasmic essence.

He loses his power when we know his face.

Here, all this time, Less thought he was merely a bad writer. A bad lover, a bad friend, a bad son. Apparently the condition is worse; he is bad at being himself.

He sees her looking at him with interest, and is encouraged to go on. 'I wouldn't be here with you now. This wouldn't be real - something else would. You'd have been another you, instead of the one you are now. You can't be tied down to a predestined fate when you change according to your situation, and your fate must change too. Everything depends on circumstances - on which "you" you happen to be at a given time...

He said you have to be on the side of the losers, the people with bad lungs. You have to be with those who are homesick and can't breathe very well in Ireland. He said it makes no sense to hold a stone in your hand. A lot more people would be homeless if you speak the killer language. He said Ireland has more than one story. We are the German-Irish story. We are the English-Irish story, too. My father has one soft foot and one hard foot, one good ear and one bad ear, and we have one Irish foot and one German foot and a right arm in English. We are the brack children. Brack, homemade Irish bread with German raisins. We are the brack people and we don't have just one language and one history. We sleep in German and we dream in Irish. We laugh in Irish and we cry in German. We are silent in German and we speak in English. We are the speckled people.

He thought: that's certainly how it starts. One day a person puts his legs up on a bench, then night comes and he falls asleep. That's how it happens that one fine day a person joins the tramps and turns into one of them.

Here is the life you have tried to throw away. Here is your second chance. Here is the destiny you have tried to shake off by inventing a hundred false roles, a hundred false identities for yourself. It will look at first like disaster, but is really good fortune in disguise, since fate too knows how to follow your evasions through a hundred forms of its own. Now you will become at last the one you intended to be.

Her voice became vibrant and raw, veined with passion. "You can never go back to the past. You can't heal their wounds or your own. Even God will not do this for you," and this was a bit controversial with her audience, but she believed she had proof: "Jesus himself was not healed--he came back from the dead with the wounds still in his hands and his body. He came back changed, but not healed. Saying 'I'm sorry' is saying that you will be different from now on. Your identity stretches to accomodate this thing you did to them. And in this way a relationship is formed between the person you have hurt and yourself.

...he still thought I was accusing him or calling him to account. He said, "People *do* grow. You may not think much of *me*, but my children will be great!" I said , "They will be black and blind or passing for white and self-blinded. Those are the only choices.

He tried to shape in his mind what he had to say to McDonald. It was a feeling; it was an urge that he had to speak. But whatever he spoke he knew would be but another name for the wildness that he sought. It was a freedom and goodness, a hope and a vigor that he perceived to underlie all the familiar things of his life, which were not free or good or hopeful or vigorous. What he sought was the source and preserver of his world, a world which seemed to turn ever in fear away from its source, rather than search it out, as the prairie grass around him sent down its fibered roots into the rich dark dampness, the Wildness, and thereby renewed itself, year after year.

He was sorry for himself as well, for he was doomed to find life and identity in death letters.