Inner Voices Quotes

We enter solitude, in which also we lose loneliness. True solitude is found in the wild places, where one is without human obligation. One’s inner voices become audible. One feels the attraction of one’s most intimate sources. In consequence, one responds more clearly to other lives. The more coherent one becomes within oneself as a creature, the more fully one enters into the communion of all creatures.

People say, well, do you ever hear any other voices other than, like, a few people? Of course I do.

Something I wrote quite a few years ago was, "The voices in my head, they don't care what I do, they just want to argue the matter through and through." It is a common mistake, to think you're going to go into some kind of spiritual practice and you're going to be relieved of the human burdens, from human crosses like thought, jealousy, despair - in fact, if anything, these feelings are amplified.

I listen to the voices.

I have a rat inside my skull that runs on a treadmill - pitta-patta pitta-patta pitta-patta. I enjoy the company of other people who experience that pitta-patta in their skulls.

There are so many separate selves; no one who writes creatively hasn't felt that.

That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.

Perhaps the biggest tragedy of our lives is that freedom is possible, yet we can pass our years trapped in the same old patterns...We may want to love other people without holding back, to feel authentic, to breathe in the beauty around us, to dance and sing. Yet each day we listen to inner voices that keep our life small.

No one can bully me better than me. I'm the first person to the party going, 'Don't worry - you don't have to cut me down, 'cause I'm already there.' I struggled with all those voices and gave them so much power, to the point where they took over my life.

The important thing is not whatever nonsense the voices are saying, but what the voices are feeling.

I have a very busy head. I have inside voices that I have learned to contain.

I need to be able to hear what is being said to me by the voices I create. Just on the other side of creativity is the nuthouse - and I often notice people looking at me strangely when I am talking out loud, but there is no other way.

I write in order to make the little voices in my head go away. Thus far it hasn't worked.

I have voices in my head, but they're all speaking Spanish, and I have NO idea what they're saying.

Once the voices are in your head, it's either make a movie or kill a lot of people.

Not only are the voices in your head real, but they're accurate as well.

My blood is alive with many voices telling me I am made of longing.

The world's most sensible person and the biggest idiot both stay within us. The worst part is, you can't even tell who is who.

When you live with voices in your head, you are drawn inextricably to voices outside your head. Very often the voices work to confirm your worst suspicions. Or think of things you could never have imagined! There are only so many hours of the day to hate yourself.

I've heard writers talk about "discovering a voice," but for me that wasn't a problem. There were so many voices that I didn't know where to start.

If you really want to drop the guilt you will have to drop your parental voices within, the priestly voices within. You will have to get rid of your parents and your conditioning. Life has been in such a trap up to now that even a small child starts feeling guilty. We have not yet been able to develop an education which can help people to grow without feeling guilty. And unless that education happens man will remain ill, ill at ease.

Toni hears voices," said Trapp. "But who is this Dr. Ellsworth to tell her she's a schizophrenic? Maybe she just perceives better than the rest of us. Maybe the voices she hears are just uncommunicated ideas, floating free.

You can be whoever you want to be. Don't let those voices or noises, whether they're inside or outside, distract you.

My self . . . is a dramatic ensemble. Here a prophetic ancestor makes his appearance. Here a brutal hero shouts. Here an alcoholic bon vivant argues with a learned professor. Here a lyric muse, chronically love-struck, raises her eyes to heaven. Her papa steps forward, uttering pedantic protests. Here the indulgent uncle intercedes. Here the aunt babbles gossip. Here the maid giggles lasciviously. And I look upon it all with amazement, the sharpened pen in my left hand.

Might we not say to the confused voices which sometimes arise from the depths of our being: "Ladies, be so kind as to speak only four at a time?"