Bio For Myself Quotes

I don’t know how many souls I have. I’ve changed at every moment. I always feel like a stranger. I’ve never seen or found myself. From being so much, I have only soul. A man who has soul has no calm. A man who sees is just what he sees. A man who feels is not who he is. Attentive to what I am and see, I become them and stop being I. Each of my dreams and each desire Belongs to whoever had it, not me. I am my own landscape, I watch myself journey - Various, mobile, and alone. Here where I am I can’t feel myself. That’s why I read, as a stranger, My being as if it were pages. Not knowing what will come And forgetting what has passed, I note in the margin of my reading What I thought I felt. Rereading, I wonder: “Was that me?” God knows, because he wrote it...

There's so many dimensions to me. I am not a flat surface that can express myself like a painting, but more like a sculpture that you have to see all of before you can understand.

I Am My Teacher (Sonnet 1234) I teach myself when I need to learn something, I correct myself when I make mistakes. No two year old shaped as 40, 50, 60 or 70, Has the maturity to provide me moral guidance. I taught myself electronics when I fell for it, I taught myself music in my youthful high. I taught myself languages in sheer obsession, I taught myself aeronautics when I wanted to fly. Critics mail, I should add "biggest ego" to my bio, I thank them all for an astounding revelation. If I actually behaved befitting my capacity, Half your legends will lose their reputation. You only see the tip of the ice-berg, Fullness of the Himalayas you'll never see. I chose to put many of my passions aside, One path, one mission - one answer to calamity.

Right! You see me as superhuman! That’s some serious pressure.” Amelia laughs a little. “Sometimes it feels good, yeah, that people like how I look and act. But sometimes it’s just so much. I already have a ton of pressure on me from my parents and from myself, so it’s extra hard coming from you. Because we’re equals, me and you. Imperfect equals. And you’ve seen my struggles and you’ve been there right alongside me for the ride. I mean, I was a hot mess when I was trying to figure out if I wanted to have sex with Sid. I couldn’t face my parents over a dinner with my new girlfriend. I sometimes don't have the courage to stick up to people or for myself.” “But those are just normal human things.” “Yeah, exactly! This is my point! You look at me and you see me struggle through things and you root for me regardless, thinking I’m, like, killing it out there in the world, but when it’s you, you don’t cut yourself any slack and you beat yourself up. But I’m a regular person, and so are you,” she says. “And a pretty badass one, too. You’re so good at everything. You get amazing grades and you’re an incredible writer and you’re so smart-sometimes so smart that teachers assume I am, too, just because I’m around you. When I nearly failed my bio test earlier this semester, Mr. O'Donnell told me I should try to be more like you. And you know what? Maybe that’s a shitty thing to say to a student, but I do find myself wishing I could be more like you all the time. Not because I’m inadequate as a person but because humans yearn! Humans want to be better than they are! Humans feel jealous! And I think it’s okay if sometimes I want to be more like you. Who wouldn’t? You’re smart and hilarious and fashionable and fierce and you would do anything for the ones you love. You put up with a lot of shit and you let it light a fire in you and I admire the hell out of that, babe.

Most of my friends put their preferred pronoun in their Instagram bios—he/she, him/her, they/their—but I respond to any and all of them. I like to think of it as collecting pronouns: the more I get, the more fun I’m having. To get the obvious out of the way, because that’s apparently important to people, I think of myself as post-gender. I was trying to figure out how to explain that because sometimes it’s a paragraph and sometimes it’s a term paper depending on who I’m talking to, and I have no idea who will be reading this in the aftermath. Then I noticed that one of my fellow passengers has a cat with him, and that’s perfect. When you visit a friend and find they have a cat, you just see it as a cat in all its pure catness, it doesn’t require further definition. You’ll probably get a name, and if you ask, whether it was born male or female, but even after you have that information you still don’t think of it any differently. It’s not a He-Cat or a She-Cat or a They-Cat. It’s just a cat. And unless the cat’s name has any gender-specific connotations you’ll probably forget pretty fast which gender it was born into. My name is Theo, and by that logic, I am a cat. What I was or was not born into has nothing to do with how I see myself. It’s not about going from one gender to another, or suggesting that they don’t exist. Some of my friends say that the moment you talk about gender you invalidate the conversation because you’re accepting the limits of outmoded paradigms, but I’m not sure I agree with that. I just think gender shouldn’t matter. If you’re a man, aren’t there moments when you feel more female, like when you’re listening to music, or your cheek is being gently stroked, or you see a spectacularly handsome man walk into the room? If you’re a woman, aren’t there moments when you feel more male, when you have to be strong in the face of conflict, or stand behind your opinion, or when a spectacularly beautiful woman walks into the room? Well, in those moments, you are all of those things, so why deny that part of yourself? For me, it’s not about being binary or non-binary. It’s about moving the needle to the center of the dial and accepting all definitions as equally true while remaining free to shift in emphasis from moment to moment. It’s about being a Person, not a She-Person or a He-Person or a They-Person. (...) When you go into a clothing store, you don’t just go to the “one size fits all” rack. You look for clothes that fit your waist, hips, legs, chest, and neck, clothes that complement your form and shape, and reflect not just how you see yourself but how you want to be seen by others. If it’s still not quite right, and you can afford it, you get the clothes tailored to fit exactly who you are. That’s what I’m doing. Post-gender is one term for it. Another might be tailored gender. Maybe bespoke gender. But definitely not one-size-fits-all. The world doesn’t get to decide what best fits who I am and how I choose to be seen. I do.

could hardly breathe I started having these really WEIRD hallucinations. I saw myself: In bio class sitting next to Brandon while wearing that sea horse float-toy thingy. Going to the Sweetheart Dance wearing that sea horse float-toy thingy. Graduating from high school wearing that sea horse float-toy thingy.

I constantly challenge myself to add more poems, songs, and stories to my repertoire. I grab every chance offered to me to grow, learn, and practice. If I don't do it, others will leave me in the dust and go right by me, and I will not achieve my goals or complete my mission.

favourite) Shellow Bowells. I had an impulse to go there now, to sniff out Shellow Bowells, as it were, and find what makes Norton Bio and Rickinghall Inferior. But as I glanced over the map my eye caught a line across the landscape called the Devil's Dyke. I had never heard of it, but it sounded awfully promising. I decided on an impulse to go there. Thus it was that I found myself late the next morning wandering a back lane outside the Cambridgeshire hamlet of Reach looking for the dike's start. It was a rotten day. A steamroom fog filled the air and visibility was next to nothing. The dike rose up suddenly, almost alarmingly, out of the soupy greyness, and I clambered up to its top. It is a strange and brooding eminence, particularly in thick fog and out of season. Built during the darkest of the Dark Ages some 1,300 years ago, the Devil's Dyke is an earthen embankment that rises up to sixty feet above the surrounding landscape and runs in a