Alexander Chee Quotes

Nobody else can tell you what you are.

You're who you think you are, even if you never admit it to yourself or to anyone else. You may be in the worst position to judge, but you're in the best position to know.

Except that a human being is both the public and the private. We are both, private and public in the same person.

I have no issues with my identity.

I don't feel I have an alter ego.

What we hold in our heads - our memory, our feelings, our thoughts, our sense of our own history - is the sum of our humanity.

You grow and you change, or at least you think you do, but you're kind of the same.

It's so much easier to know who you are when there aren't a thousand people telling you who they think you are.

I don't have dreams. How can I say it? I myself am a dream.

At some point, the pride has to be a part of the whole day-to-day oeuvre. It's part of who you are and doesn't need to be discussed anymore.

I certainly have the feeling that I'm the same person even though I've changed a great deal.

I didn't want to have to deal with having any moniker or separation between the self that I see and know myself as.

Our subjectivity is so completely our own.

Every one of us have things that we believe about ourselves when nobody else is looking, nobody else is listening, nobody else is monitoring what we're doing. We believe things about ourself.

I feel like when people judge me they're not judging me, because they don't know who I am.

I think that people just have this core desire to express who they are. And I think that's always existed.

Language is me, in a way. Really, I feel it.

I can't turn off the way I think, and that's essentially who I am, who anybody is.

Having long suspected that there was something alive in there, running the place, separate from everything else, absolutely individual and independent, we've celebrated by giving it a real name. My self.

Nothing is stranger to man than his own image.

I don't want everybody to just see the baseball side of me.

The mystery at the center of 'Burial Rites' is not who killed whom on the night of March 13, 1828. It is the mystery each of us encounters: Can we every truly know another? Can we ever truly know ourselves?

Sometimes I think all my pictures are just pictures of me.

The ego is nothing other than the focus of conscious attention.

If I were immersed in constant melancholy, I would not be who I am.