#outsider

Before vampires were aesthetically appealing, they were physical anomalies and ostracized outsiders whom we banished to the dark, and they didn't have the appeal that they do now. ↗

— Ian Somerhalder

#appeal #appealing #banished #before #dark

It is not new or unusual for the real Americans, meaning those immigrants who came to America a little bit longer ago, to fear the outsiders, the pretenders, the newcomers. ↗

— Luis Gutierrez

#america #bit #came #fear #immigrants

I don't think I'm an outsider at all. ↗

— Christina Ricci

#outsider #think

You guys are so caught up in your polished images and your passive-aggressive comments that no one ever comes right out and says anything. Well, I'm going to. ↗

— Richelle Mead

#frustration #gameboard-of-the-gods #outsider #age

Art can permeate the very deepest part of us, where no words exist. ↗

— Eileen Miller

#asd #autism #outsider-art #art

In reference to Einstein's definition of insanity... No Mr. Einstein, that is not insanity, that is autism. ↗

— Eileen Miller

#asd #autism #outsider-art #art

take a salad of pills and hit the floor ↗

— Pat Smith

#outsider-art #art

The outsider is not sure who he is. He has found an “I”, but it is not his true “I”.’ His main business is to find his way back to himself. ↗

— Colin Wilson

#lostness #the-outsider #business

Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be. ↗

— Jane Austen

#individual #outsider #family

For a long while I have believed – this is perhaps my version of Sir Darius Xerxes Cama’s belief in a fourth function of outsideness – that in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that has been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity. And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainly, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks. What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a playhouse or a movie theater, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our palaces of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time. ↗

— Salman Rushdie

#outsider #art