Identity Quotes

I self-identify as having no identity.

It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.

 
She says if people change, she doesn’t understand why names get stuck. She calls it false advertisement...
(T.M.)

 
 
Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don’t fool.

I go through phases. Some days I feel like the person I’m supposed to be, and then some days I turn into no one at all. There is both me and my silhouette. I hope that on the days you find me and all I am are darkened lines, you still are willing to be near me.

                                   
” 

HAVE WE EVER COMPLAINED because we are misunderstood, misjudged, misidentified, slandered, misheard, and not heard? Precisely this is our fate – oh, for a long time yet! It is also our distinction; we should not honor ourselves sufficiently if we wished that it were otherwise. We are misidentified – because we ourselves keep growing, keep changing, we shed our old bark, we shed our skins every spring, we keep becoming younger, fuller of future, taller, stronger, we push our roots ever more powerfully into the depths – into evil – while at the same time we embrace the heavens ever more lovingly, more broadly, imbibing their light ever more thirstily with all our twigs and leaves. Like trees we grow – this is hard to understand, as is all of life – not in one place only but everywhere, not in one direction but equally upward and outward and inward and downward; our energy is at work simultaneously in the trunk, branches, and roots; we are no longer free to do only one particular thing, to be only one particular thing. This is our fate, as I have said; we grow in height; and even if this should be our fatality – for we dwell ever closer to the lightning – well, we do not on that account honor it less; it remains that which we do not wish to share, to make public – the fatality of the heights, our fatality.

 






I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them.



 






The odds are high that the best of me has already been ripped away and that if I don’t keep hold of myself I will lose what’s left.



 

The Earth never crosses it's own path. Not only is it not in a circular orbit around the sun, it is not even in an elliptical orbit around the sun. Everything drifts. Nothing matches the architype perfectly. None of us is perfect. Everything is imperfect. The imperfections create our identity. The only way I know I exist is by my variation from the ideal. I am error. I am alive.
"There are enough people so self-obsessed that if they don’t see or show their own face regularly through social media, they feel so stressed that they may also fall sick for a day or two."
~Anuj Somany
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