Sasha Lane Quotes

It's an abnormal world I live in. I don't belong anywhere. It's like I'm floating down the middle. I'm never quite sure where I am.

I shouldn't say I'm looking forward to leading a normal life, because I don't know what normal is.

I deal out of a reality that isn't real. I'm sorry. I don't know what that means. I don't really know what I do.

I don't really know what Hollywood is. I've never really known.

Nothing happened today. And if anything did, I’d rather not talk about it, because I didn’t understand it.

I'm a fairy. I'd come and hear, "How was your day, honey?" And I'd be like, "I was a fairy. I don't know."

I've always operated so far outside my lane, I'm not sure what lane is mine anymore.

I'd always liked movies in a kind of naive way. They seemed no less improbable a career than anything else.

I don't like to let people know where I'm going to end up, and I don't personally like to know where I'm going.

Most of the time, I'm a little bewildered or sort of feel out of place.

As a session player for so many years, I have found myself in rooms looking around going, 'Is this for real?'

I love starting a track in one place and not knowing where it's going to end up.

Anytime you kind of take the road that I've taken, people don't know what to expect.

I just want people to be able to put on 'American Boyfriend' and accept to not know. To not know anything about everything.

I always wrote with some kind of angle of ignorance. I didn't know what was right or wrong.

My mind is in another planet behind the blocks. Sometimes I'm up in the blocks, and I'm like, 'What am I doing here?' I'm just not trying to think too much.

I stand on the end platform of the tram and am completely unsure of my footing in this world, in this town, in my family. Not even casually could I indicate any claims that I might rightly advance in any direction. I have not even any defense to offer for standing on this platform, holding on to this strap, letting myself be carried along by this tram, nor for the people who give way to the tram or walk quietly along or stand gazing into shop windows. Nobody asks me to put up a defense, indeed, but that is irrelevant.

To be honest I don't really know because I really didn't care when I was writing about mixing up reality with what was not reality.

Silence emerges from the sound of rain and spreads in a crescendo of gray monotony over the narrow street I contemplate. I’m sleeping while awake, standing by the window, leaning against it as against everything. I search in myself for the sensations I feel before these falling threads of darkly luminous water that stand out from the grimy building facades and especially from the open windows. And I don’t know what I feel or what I want to feel. I don’t know what to think or where I am.

I opened the door and blinked out into the bright hall. I had the impression it wasn't night and it wasn't day, but some lurid third interval that had suddenly slipped between them and would never end.

It was so easy to disown what you couldn't recognize, to keep yourself apart from things that were foreign and unsettling. The only person you can be sure to control, always, is yourself. Which is a lot to be sure of, but at the same time, not enough.

I ran rather than walked, anxious to lose my way. All I wanted was to be unsure.

You’re here,” I continued. “At least you look as if you’re here. But maybe you aren’t. Maybe it’s just your shadow. The real you may be someplace else. Or maybe you already disappeared, a long, long time ago. I reach out my hand to see, but you’ve hidden yourself behind a cloud of probablys. Do you think we can go on like this forever?

I am turned into a dream. I feel nothing, or I don't know what I feel. Yet it seems to me I am happy.

While contemplating the bride, and eyeing the cake of soap, he muttered between his teeth: 'Tuesday. It was not Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? Perhaps it was Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday.' No one has ever discovered to what this monologue referred. Yes, perchance, this monologue had some connection with the last occasion on which he had dined, three days before, for it was now Friday.