Y N Esther Yi Quotes

Despite everything I've been through, I still think that my loneliness is part of some character-building prologue to the joy of togetherness that inevitably awaits me,' she said. 'Isn't that funny?

I wasn’t sure how to navigate a space filled with strangers who knew I loved what they loved. It was like going to the sauna, except our naked bodies were identical, which made the embarrassment recursive and pointless.

If most people looked for someone to love, she, like a tax collector, looked for those who failed to love her and made them pay up.

I love the world I hate simply because you live in it.

He is pure future. It's not him that I love. I love the story of him.

As a human being who cannot live without love, I know full well that I have exhausted my options on this disappointing planet. The question is no longer 'Who are the people who will accept my unusual love?' but rather 'How do I make my love more unusual and more unacceptable

They confused their navigation through the stunning variety of meaningless choices as an expression of their individuality.

I wish I were made of glass,” I said. “Then you could see right into me. I wouldn’t have to say a word to make you understand what I’m feeling.” “It’s more likely that I would see right through you,” O said. “Which means I wouldn’t see you at all. I’d forget you’re there and crash into you like a glass wall. Flesh constitutes a tradeoff: it lets you know that a person is standing before you, but you have no idea what this person means.

Every human body is capable of producing a spirit that lingers apart from it. But whether that spirit is truer or falser than the body━she has no answer.

I would love for you to know what this feels like,” she said. “I would love for you to feel as badly as I do. But you’re headed for a place without answers. So turn back around and dig your heels into a world that’s been waiting here for you all along.

You are not your dryness," the Boys said in small copy on the box, "You are not your sebum." They wanted to make the world a better place, and that began with my enlarged pores.

Inside your mother, you were perfectly round, complete unto yourself. You wanted for nothing. But you were born, and the nightmare began. Your body was pulled in all directions. Your arms, legs, neck, even your hair—they shouldn’t look this way. They’ve been elongated by their constant attempts to reach out and anchor to anything at all on the vast plaza that is the world.

Indeed, O's painting made me wish I could return to a time before my birth, back when I was still steeling myself for the limitations of the body to come. Then I could plan in advance all the ways in which I would dare to be. This was, of course, a pointless fantasy. I was already here, in the thick of this life, a parade of missed opportunities, a second-to-second condemnation of my mediocrity.

As a human being who cannot live without love, I know full well that I have exhausted my options on this disappointing planet. The question is no longer ‘Who are the people who will accept my unusual love?’ but rather ‘How do I make my love more unusual and more unacceptable?

You know best how to flagellate yourself.

That woman thinks you've been waiting your whole life to believe in something, and she's ready to tell you what it should be.

I'm tired of experiencing reality as that which happens strictly to me. My small life can't possibly encompass all of human experience.

I just like the feeling of us moving through time together. I need him there. I need to know that at this very moment he’s looking down at his hands somewhere in the world.

She liked to compare Polygon Plaza to a monastery: a place where the dissolution of the self produced moments of astonishing self-expression.

You've settled for a comfortable distance from him so that you can yearn without suffering. Sorry, but you're not in love.

I was not enough for myself, my body was not enough, yet I needed it, I couldn’t think or feel anything limitless without it.

I knew how all of this felt, better than if I had felt it myself. The boy was my ambassador, sent to a foreign land with which my own land was in delicate relations. I'd never visited this country myself, maimed king that I was.

He doesn't need to know who you are to wait for you. You must find him. When you confront him with the full force of who you are, only then will he realize he's been waiting for you. You have to show up and confront him with his destiny in the form of you.

Driving a moped is the easiest thing in the world,” O shouted. “Keep your eyes fixed on a single point in the horizon. Don’t look anywhere else. If a truck is about to crash into you, ignore it. If a plane is falling out of the sky, ignore it. Look straight ahead and squeeze the power. Do not change course. The world will change for you. You are at the center of the universe. You can’t make a single wrong move.

Only after we hung up did it dawn on me that I'd been asking my yes/no questions in an intonation signaling declarative statements. Everything I wasn't sure about--he'd thought I was expressing with absolute certainty.

Despite everything I’ve been through, I still think that my loneliness is part of some character-building prologue to the joy of togetherness that inevitably awaits me,” she said. “Isn’t that funny?

He doesn’t need to know who you are to wait for you. You must find him. When you confront him with the full force of who you are, only then will he realize he’s been waiting for you. You have to show up and confront him with his destiny in the form of you.

Indeed, O’s painting made me wish I could return to a time before my birth, back when I was still steeling myself for the limitations of the body to come. Then I could plan in advance all the ways in which I would dare to be. This was, of course, a pointless fantasy. I was already here, in the thick of this life, a parade of missed opportunities, a second-to-second condemnation of my mediocrity.

You must have heard the saying that the pen is mightier than the sword. Well, its usage has vanished from popular literature in recent years. What has taken its place is the comparison of the pen to a gun. This reflects, I hypothesize, the growing awareness that the act of writing kills quickly and from a great distance. Literature murders—not the reader, as one might expect, but the characters, who are no different from real people. Behind every character is a person out in the world whose sanctity is violated in the process of literary transfiguration. Every black letter on a white page is a bullet.

My First Time, experienced at the age of twenty-nine, made me wonder about all the other first times out there to be had.

I’m tired of experiencing reality as that which happens strictly to me. My small life can’t possibly encompass all of human experience.

Nothing true is ever fair.

Consider the cicadas...there's the droning of the cicadas, as a technical phenomenon of sound waves. Then there's the mystery of the noise, its vehement formlessness. Neither of these things can be painted. I paint what lies in between. When I paint, I am saying yes to something that can be neither agreed nor disagreed with.

You’re trembling like a foal. Has no one touched you in a while? Don’t be embarrassed. Being practiced at love is exactly what ruins it.

People are craving touch, sensation, depth. But nobody can feed them, for the same people they beseech are busy beseeching someone else. The world: a chain of beseechers.

With a start, I realized I had no sexual desire for Moon. My sexuality simply loved his sexuality, totally and unblinkingly, without my needing to know anything about what he did with his.

I was struck by the impossibility of conveying what I felt, which was crushing disappointment. It was a feeling that a child would have no trouble expressing.

The Pack of Boys has released their first album in Seoul two years ago, and now they were selling out arenas and Olympic stadiums all over the world. But all that could be heard were the shrieks of children playing in the distance.

I was finally starting to enjoy myself. I could tell because I wished I had more body for the world to work upon.

He's as good as dead. Take that mindset, and you'll recover faster. I can't recover on the basis of an illusion. Don't you understand that your entire situation is an illusion?