Stanley Kubrick Quotes

Now I'm confused. Now I don't know what I want.

I couldn't sleep for nights on end, as my brain felt like there were thoughts colliding within it; I obsessed over small details, from saving pennies and polishing each one of them to washing my clothing over and over in the washing machine.

Am I about to feel really, really stupid?

Indecision may or may not be my problem.

I often obsess so much about things that I can't get done, that I ruin other things.

People are never more insecure than when they become obsessed with their fears at the expense of their dreams.

I feel like I'm in my own head a lot; it just feels amazing, but scary, weird and confusing.

I've learned how my own perfectionism can cripple me.

I am scared to answer questions. I do not think and answer. I say whatever comes to my mind.

Nowadays not even a suicide kills himself in desperation. Before taking the step he deliberates so long and so carefully that he literally chokes with thought. It is even questionable whether he ought to be called a suicide, since it is really thought which takes his life. He does not die with deliberation but from deliberation.

Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of nerve, a lot of energy, to teeter on the edge, looking over, looking down into the windy blackness and not being quite able to make out, through the yellow, stinking mist, just what lies below in the slime, in the oozing, vomit-streaked slime; and so I could go on, my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself.

I am completely half afraid to think.

I made things a lot harder than they needed to be out of fear and anxiety.

She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again.

Mattie sat at the table, obsessing, orbiting around herself. She was sick of her worried, hostile mind. It would have killed her long before, she felt, if it hadn't needed the transportation.

An Irishman can be worried by the consciousness that there is nothing to worry about.

I do not speak as I think, I do not think as I should, and so it all goes on in helpless darkness.

Why is failure the first thing I think of when I find myself in this sort of situation? Why can't I just enjoy myself? But if you have to ask the question, then you know you're lost: self-consciousness is a man's worst enemy. Already I'm wondering whether she's as aware of my erection as I am.

There isn't a thought in my head I care to be alone with for more than five minutes.

I have no answers, but every day I wish I could have the same point of view for any 24-hour period. I wish I was in some system where I don't constantly question myself.

Christ, how did you ever get this screwed up! his mind demanded of him. He knew the answer, but even that was not a full explanation. Different segments of the organism called John Terrance Kelly knew different parts of the whole story, but somehow they'd never all come together, leaving the separate fragments of what had ...once been a tough, smart, decisive and to blunder about in confusion - and despair! There was a happy thought.

My inner chemistry had been hijacked by a mad scientist, who poured the fizzy, volatile contents of my heart from a test tube marked SOBER REALITY into another labeled SUNNY DELUSION, and back again, faster and faster, until the floor of my life was slick with spillage.

All systems have failed me. In five minutes I'll be fine again for a while, but right now the inside of my head feels like Niagara Falls without the noise, just this mist and churning and no real sense of where earth ends and heaven begins.

When you hear fear knocking on the door, most of the time when you answer it there’s nothing there. It’s just you holding yourself back.