Limmy Quotes

To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word.

Being attracted to my own sex was as much part of who I was as being short or blonde or drawn to the library, but I was made to grow up feeling 'other.' Most books, films - even advertisements - didn't reflect how I felt, and I often watched the world from the outside.

I couldn't put into a capsule one thing that represents me, I don't think.

I have a very healthy dose of scepticism towards what identity is and what personas are, maybe because of my life journey. Identity is something so malleable.

In this society, you have to belong to something, I feel, and all we have in the neighborhood is a gang.

I was like, 'I can't do grime. That's for kids.' - I was 20 at the time, and I thought I was a gangsta, a proper rude boy.

I was, like, in a rap gang. I loved rap, and it was all around me.

I remember knowing, for a while, for a long time, that I was kind of abnormal in some sense.

I struggled coming to terms with the fact that I'd been assigned female at birth, but that I didn't feel like a girl or a woman or a man or a boy.

Everybody else was quoting 2Pac, and I was running around with Green Day in my Walkman. Racially speaking, I wasn't cool or appropriate for any group.

As a member of a generation who have been subjected to much over-stimulation, it's hard to say I fit into any one category.

I don't know if I'm ever considered a part of the community I'm in.

I was always a punk rock skate kid from a very young age.

I am a marked person, and no one who's unmarked is going to understand that. It's very intimidating. I don't even know what my place is anymore. What's my role in society? Who am I, after everybody has branded me?

My brother was 13 when people started telling me that he was a 'hipster.' I was 11 and thought it was so stressful, like, 'How do you not be called that?'

The term stigma and its synonyms conceal a double perspective: does the stigmatized individual assume his differentness is known about already or is evident on the spot, or does he assume it is neither known about by those present nor immediately perceivable by them?

I was the funny one in my group; there was a lot pressure to be responsible for everyone's happiness. I didn't like watching other friends of mine be called the 'pretty one' or the 'smart one.' That had no depth, and it didn't match how I knew them.

When I was a teenager, you were either a punk, a skinhead or a mod, or you weren't on the scene. Me and my mates were skinheads.

In my family, I'm the middle of three, and I'm like a lot of middle children. I was one of those kids that floated from group to group. I liked being able to be included in all the groups - the bad kids, the smart kids.

The performance of black American identity feels very different from actually living in a black body. There's a dissonance between inside and outside.

People think I'm being stupid or false humble. It's not. I don't think I always fit in. Maybe it's a complex you get as someone who has always been fighting on the outside.

When you are so obsessed with identity politics it's not healthy because you're constantly worried about how you're perceived as opposed to your achievements. Once your identity becomes your achievement then you run into serious problems.

More and more people are defining themselves not by what they are about, but by what they are against, what they are overcoming, the thing that is wrong with them.

I don't understand how people can stand next to you one year,and next year, they cannot. They're going crazy, screaming. They can't take it that you're there. But last year I was in the same club,walking around,lonely like a motherfucker. Couldn't get a date or a dance. I was too skinny, too something, and now, "He's just adorable. He's just, oh!

In the days of witchcraft it used to be believed that if one person secretly made a waxen image of another and stuck pins into the image, its counterpart would suffer tortures, and that if the image was melted the person would die. This superstition is almost realized in the relation between the private self and its social reflection. They seem to separate but are darkly united, and what is done to the one is done to the other.