Scott Turow Quotes

Who Am I? Or (Perhaps More Accurately) Who Else Could Be Me?

I don't even know who I am. All I know is that I am the sibling, daughter, sister, the friend of somebody, and I need to know who I am outside of that.

If you ask me to play myself, I will not know what to do. I do not know who or what I am.

I just don't see myself as the heroine in my own narrative.

I've never, ever labeled myself.

To every man in the world there is one person of whom he knows little: whom he would never recognize if he met him walking down the street, whose motives are a mystery to him. That is himself.

Rather than being taught to ask ourselves who we are, we are schooled to ask others. We are, in effect, trained to listen to others’ versions of ourselves.

A self is a frightening thing to waste, it's the lens through which one's whole life is viewed, and few people are willing to part with it, in death, or even imaginatively, in art.

Nobody knows you. You don't know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?

Sometimes I try to lose my identity, and I can't get rid of it!

As a consumer of entertainment, as a director, I'm always interested in questions of identity and who someone is and how they're perceived and who they are versus who they thought they'd be.

I'm going to pull myself together for a while and think-try to determine what character of a woman I am; for, candidly, I don't know. By all the codes which I am acquainted with, I am a devilishly wicked specimen of the sex. But some way I can't convince myself that I am. I must think about it.

I'd take a look at my own self in the mirror and wonder how it was possible that anybody could manage such an enormous thing as being what he was.

It goes a long way back, some twenty years. All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naive. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself. But first I had to discover that I am an invisible man!

I don't want to be 'the girl with cancer' ... I just didn't want that to be my only thing. But it is part of me. And it's a big part of me.

Who you are is a mystery no one can answer, not even you.

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself, sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else.

Look in the mirror. The face that pins you with its double gaze reveals a chastening secret.

I've been living with myself all of my life, so I know all of me. So when I watch me, all I see is me. It's boring.

My personality doesn't interest me.

I knew Henry Fonda was my father, but I didn't know who I was. They all thought of me as Henry Fonda's son. Unfortunately for them, they never got to know me.

For myself, I do not now know in any concrete human terms wherein my individuality consists. In my present human form of consciousness I simply cannot tell.

Here I am, this smart, bookish girl, and I have this biker-chick name.

Autobiography begins with a sense of being alone. It is an orphan form.