Self-knowledge

Quotes

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This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.

Diaries
I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than to take the path that leads to himself.

Demian
No matter how long you stand there examining yourself naked before a mirror, you'll never see reflected what's inside.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Things outside you are projections of what's inside you, and what's inside you is a projection of what's outside. So when you step into the labyrinth outside you, at the same time you're stepping into the labyrinth inside.

Kafka on the Shore
I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put into words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.

Sputnik Sweetheart
I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

Song of Myself
I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who I am.

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
I am still so na�ve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don�t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
And I have the others in me. Even when I�m far away from them, I am forced to live with them. Even when I�m all alone, crowds surround me. I have no place to flee to, unless I were to flee from myself.

The Book of Disquiet
Be what I think? But I think of being so many things!

The Book of Disquiet
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On Anger: "For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind."
Essays
On Destiny: "Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today."
Human, All Too Human
On Friendship: "A crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
Essays