I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany´s.
Truman CapoteRead
They can romanticize us so, mirrors, and that is their secret: what a subtle torture it would be to destroy all the mirrors in the world: where then could we look for reassurerance of our identities? I tell you, my dear, Narcissus was so egotist...he was merely another of us who, in our unshatterable isolation, recognized, on seeing his reflection, the beautiful comrade, the only inseparatable love...poor Narcissus, possibly the only human who was ever honest on this point.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects on the nature of self-perception and the need for mirrors, both literal and metaphorical, in understanding our identities.
In this quote, Truman Capote explores the idea that our identities are often shaped by how we see ourselves and how others perceive us. The metaphor of mirrors signifies the external validation we seek to affirm our identities and the isolation we face without it. Capote draws on the myth of Narcissus to illustrate the deep human longing for connection and acknowledgment, suggesting that recognizing beauty in ourselves is both a form of love and a confrontation with our solitude.
Themes
IdentityReflectionNarcissismSelf-PerceptionIsolationLove
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a discussion about self-love and identity during a psychology lecture.
More from Truman Capote
All quotes →All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It's like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of art, provide it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.
Truman CapoteRead
No one will ever know what 'In Cold Blood' took out of me. It scraped me right down to the marrow of my bones. It nearly killed me. I think, in a way, it did kill me.
Truman CapoteRead
Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.
Truman CapoteRead
I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together.
Truman CapoteRead
The quietness of his tone italicized the malice of his reply.
Truman CapoteRead
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