Anne Stevenson Quotes

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

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.

Soul is just that inner spirit. I use that inner spirit for whatever it is I do.

In each of my characters there is a little of me. Not strictly autobiographical but a little piece of my soul.

I know who I am. When I look in the mirror, I see me.

Then, at some point, you get identified with certain things.

I want people to realize that they aren't their bodies. They are something more than their bodies.

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.

What a gloomy thing, not to know the address of one's soul.

Fling away your soul once for all, your own small self; if you will find it again. Count not even on immortality.

Either you're a person wondering if you have a soul, or you're a soul who knows that being a person isn't real.

How can a man know himself? He is a thing dark and veiled; and if the hare has seven skins, man can slough off seventy times seven and still not be able to say: "this is really you, this is no longer outer shell.

I am the escaped one, After I was born They locked me up inside me But I left. My soul seeks me, Through hills and valley, I hope my soul Never finds me.

I gradually became aware that my interiority was inseparable from my exteriority, that the geography of my city was the geography of my soul.

I keep thinking that if I could just unzip my skin, step out of this body, then I would see who I really am.“ She nods her head slowly. „What do you think you‘d look like?” “Smaller, for a start.

No matter where you go, you always see yourself in the rearview mirror.

Sometimes it is painful to be oneself; at other times it seems impossible to escape oneself.

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

We shared the smile of recognizing ourselves in each other, how many imposters do I have? Do we all make the same mistakes, or has one of us gotten it right, or even just a bit less wrong, am I the imposter?

We no longer just take religious identity from our parents, so what's going on? Why are people going to this series, why are people reading so many books about religion? It's because they want answers. The answers are no longer just passed down from generation to generation. It's harder for people. In effect, you have to roll up your sleeve and ask the questions. But if you do it, if you forge your own identity, it can be much more personal and much more meaningful to you.

You can't put your finger on who I am. I can't put my finger on who I am.

Woman! Do you ever look inside? Do you ever look inside and see what you are not? God!

As Carl Jung put it, "In each of us there is another whom we do not know." As Pink Floyd sang, "There's someone in my head, but it's not me."

Identity would seem to be the garment with which one covers the nakedness of the self: in which case, it is best that the garment be loose, a little like the robes of the desert, through which one's nakedness can always be felt, and, sometimes, discerned. This trust in one's nakedness is all that gives one the power to change one's robes.