We strive all the time to give our life its form, but we do so by copying willy-nilly, like a drawing, the features of the person that we are and not of the person we should like to be.

Nous sommes si accoutumés à nous déguiser aux autres qu’enfin nous nous déguisons à nous-mêmes.

We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people.

We even make ourselves up, fusing what we are with what we wish into what we must become. I'm not sure why it must be so, but it is.

We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.

Estamos tan acostumbrados a disfrazarnos para los demás que al final nos disfrazamos para nosotros mismos.

Knowing who we are is hard. Eliminate who we’re not first, and we’ll find ourselves where we need to be.

Everyone returns us to a different sense of ourselves, for we become a little of who they think we are.

What if by sheer repetition we become the person we most often pretend to be? Does that mean there is no authentic self? Are we made of habits, compressed by time, like layered rocks?

We resemble ourselves.

If we live long enough, we become caricatures of ourselves.

There is such pressure in the West to be likable that people often reconfigure their entire personality depending on the person they’re dealing with.

<i>Whenever we kill, we kill a part of ourselves.</i>

We mistakenly believe that who we were is who we are, thus limiting our true potential in the present, based on the limitations of our past.