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Quotes about Introspection

So what do you want? Does what happens inside show on the outside? There is such a great fire in one's soul, and yet nobody ever comes to warm themselves there, and passersby see nothing but a little smoke coming from the top of the chimney, and go on their way.
— Vincent Van Gogh
So what do you want? Does what happens inside show on the outside? There is such a great fire in one's soul, and yet nobody ever comes to warm themselves there, and passersby see nothing but a little smoke coming from the top of the chimney, and go on their way.
— Vincent Van Gogh
I'll start with the small things
— Vincent Van Gogh
I am unable to describe exactly what is the matter with me; now and then there are horrible fits of anxiety, apparently without cause, or otherwise a feeling of emptiness and fatigue in the head.
— Vincent Van Gogh
For me, life may well continue in solitude. I have never perceived those to whom I have been most attached other than as through a glass, darkly.
— Vincent Van Gogh
For me, life may well continue in solitude. I have never perceived those to whom I have been most attached other than as through a glass, darkly.
— Vincent Van Gogh
One begins by plaguing oneself to no purpose in order to be true to nature, and one concludes by working quietly from one's own palette alone, and then nature is the result.
— Vincent Van Gogh
There are often beams in our eye that we know not of. Let us therefore ask that our eye may become single, for then we ourselves shall become wholly single.
— Vincent Van Gogh
Every man must bear his own burden.
— Vincent Van Gogh
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.
— Virginia Woolf
Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book shown to him by heart, and his friends can only read the title.
— Virginia Woolf
The man who is aware of himself is henceforward independent and he is never bored, and life is only too short, and he is steeped through and through with a profound yet temperate happiness.
— Virginia Woolf