Best 25 quotes in «misfit quotes» category

How was Savannah supposed to pretend this glamorous life was what she’d always known? She was from a slummy neighborhood in a town outside San Francisco. These people were going to see right through her.

Eleanor," Daniel said. "Miss Fitt! Wake up!" I fluttered my eyelids open. "I'm not a misfit anymore," I rasped. "I thought I told you that.

I am not an outsider. I am an insider who discovered that everyone else had gone out.

Even in the mid-1990s geeks were fair game. One afternoon a colleague and I were standing on either side of one of the narrow aisles between the banks of trading desks on the floor when one of the chief traders walked between us, his head momentarily between ours. At that instant he winced, clutched his head with both hands as though in excruciating pain, and exclaimed, “Aarrggh-hhh! The force field! It’s too intense! Let me out of the way!

I definitely felt out of place at first, not unlike being lactose intolerant in Wisconsin.

I am but a frangible Mud brick ordered To build a home in the Big city of humanity; Yet break when Forced to fit.

I let every grain of sand slip through my fingers As the wind carried them away; Some drops of rain absorbed by the sand, Some dissolved in the sea. I'd go back carrying no traces Of where I'd been, But the sand settled between my fingers, And the grains falling off from my toes. I wouldn't soil the carpet on the floor If only I'd known...

It is unfortunate to say, but someone has to voice the pain, the struggle, the real and the lived through. You can thank the artists, poets, musicians for that - our stories may bleed sorrow but what we create seems to always hit right down to the core, the places many fear to tread, the soul. We give meaning for the scars.

Illusion" A man wants to be free flying in the emptiness of the universe He thinks he means something in the endlessness of nature A man wakes up being only a dust

It’s better to be a “misfit” than a “one-size-fits-all”!

I can see every day that a squirrel's perfectly at home in a world of trees. But imagine taking that squirrel and plunking him down in the middle of the desert. This wonderful animal will suddenly feel depressed, anxious, confused, completely at a loss. There are plenty of animals who make a home in the desert, but not the squirrel. There's nothing really wrong with that downcast squirrel in the desert. He's perfect. But he's only perfect when he's at home, in a place with lots of trees. In the desert a squirrel is an unhappy misfit. Now imagine doing something stupid: taking that squirrel to a therapist so he'll feel better... You could do squirrel therapy forever but as long as the squirrel's in the desert, he's going to be miserable. But if you just pick him up and bring him to a place with trees, now he's at home and he's happy. There are so many people who are miserable because they are squirrels in the desert. They think there's something wrong with them. They endlessly try to fix themselves but the fixing doesn't work. Yet they keep trying because it's hard to face the ways they're not at home in the world. And yet how simple it would be if they could see there's nothing wrong with who they are, there's just something wrong with where they are. But they can feel more at home than they ever imagined. They just have to look for ways that events in their lives are showing them the way home.

In this world that believes in only self-love, I am a misfit!

She walks, on the streets, with a face that, doesn't belong. It smiles more than, many put together, whole day long. Her heart misfit, a little chipped. And she likes to, call it once broken, but now stitched.

No matter how "normal" people look, living "ordinary" lives, everyone has a story to tell. And may be, just like you, everyone else is a misfit too.

I will always be a misfit, The road paved through normality will always bore a wild little spirit like me.

People like us are dead to society unless we’re pretentious, tell people what they want to hear, take off our clothes, or pretend to be like them.

Steffy risked a glance at her fellow neighbors and townspeople. She often looked for kindred spirits in the crowd. None were ever found. Just once, she wished to see someone trying to hide a smile, a snicker, or plain sighing at the absurdity. The rowdy outcasts among the community were not welcome in the church. They knew better than to show their faces.

The same tree has different shades of green; Each leaf is unique, growing on the same twig. Some veins wiggle too much, Some networks- almost a mush. Blossoming buds of the same branch Do not take the same time to grow. Then how do you think you'd fit in In this strange world, away from home?

The most interesting people are the unusual. No one writes about or discusses the average, the ordinary, or the common; they write about and discuss the weird, the mad and the different, so if you are one, even though the opinions of others are of no importance, you are, in their eyes, significant enough to notice and remember.

That was the thing about her. When you told her about an incident where you so badly screwed up, half expecting her to laugh at you in amusement, half anticipating a smirk of disgust, she would hardly express her pity or maybe she did express what she felt, for she would just nod her head, gesturing you to go on... As if it's normal... As if you're normal.

you can't fight with who you are

Though I may have been a misfit, I was also a romantic.

When we entered a classroom we always tossed our caps on the floor, to free our hands; as soon as we crossed the threshold we would throw them under the bench so hard that they struck the wall and raised a cloud of dust; this was "the way it should be done." But the new boy either failed to notice this maneuver or was too shy to perform it himself, for he was still holding his cap on his lap at the end of the prayer. It was a head-gear of composite nature, combining elements of the busby, the lancer cap, the round hat, the otter-skin cap and the cotton nightcap--one of those wretched things whose mute ugliness has great depths of expression, like an idiot's face. Egg-shaped and stiffened by whalebone, it began with three rounded bands, followed by alternating diamond-shaped patches of velvet and rabbit fur separated by a red stripe, and finally there was a kind of bag terminating in a cardboard-lined polygon covered with complicated braid. A network of gold wire was attached to the top of this polygon by a long, extremely thin cord, forming a kind of tassel. The cap was new; its visor was shiny. "Stand up," said the teacher. He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class began to laugh. He bent down and picked it up. A boy beside him knocked it down again with his elbow; he picked it up once again. "Will you please put your helmet away?" said the teacher, a witty man.

At the time, though, I felt distant from Zuckerberg and all the kids at Harvard. I still feel distant from them now, ever more so, as I increasingly opt out (by choice, by default) of the things they have embraced. We have different ideas about things. Specifically we have different ideas about what a person is, or should be. I often worry that my idea of personhood is nostalgic, irrational, inaccurate.

A ‘normal person’ is what is left after society has squeezed out all unconventional opinions and aspirations out of a human being.