Particularly with middle-class people, self-absorption is a struggle.
Never to talk about oneself is a very refined form of hypocrisy.
Conceit is an outward manifestation of inferiority.
All I ask of Life is a constant and exaggerated sense of my own importance.
The egotist is all surface; underneath is a pulpy mess and a lot of self-doubt. But the egoist may be yielding and even deferential in things he doesn't consider important; in anything that touches his core he is remorseless.
From now on, I'm not doing anything I don't want to do! The world owes me happiness, fulfillment and success... I'm just here to cash in.
Frankly, you need to get over yourself. It might sound harsh, but that's seriously what it means [1 Corinthians 10:31].
Narcissus turned and scowled at Leo. “Who are you?” “I’m the Super-sized McShizzle, man!” Leo said. “I’m Leo Valdez, bad boy supreme. And the ladies love a bad boy.
The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Man is always inclined to regard the small circle in which he lives as the center of the world and to make his particular, private life the standard of the universe and to make his particular, private life the standard of the universe. But he must give up this vain pretense, this petty provincial way of thinking and judging.
There is no room for God in a mind that's full of self.
Too much self-centered attitude, you see, brings, you see, isolation. Result: loneliness, fear, anger. The extreme self-centered attitude is the source of suffering.
In men this blunder still you find; all think their little set mankind.
We never could clearly understand how it is that egotism, so unpopular in conversation, should be so popular in writing.
We are so conceited and so unproud.
The egotism of woman is always for two.
I don't feel any vulgar gratitude to you[for helping me]. I almost feel as if You ought to be grateful to ME, for giving you the opportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity. . . I may have come into the world expressly for the purpose of increasing your stock of happiness. I may have been born to be a benefactor to you, by giving you an opportunity of assisting me.
It's all about me, no matter who I'm fighting.
I think about only me.
Pride, like the magnet, constantly points to one object, self; but, unlike the magnet, it has no attractive pole, but at all points repels.
Only you could love such a vile, selfish peacock, Evie.
This has to be the most self-centered thing I've ever said, but no, I think you just wanted to vex me.
Sordid selfishness doth contract and narrow our benevolence, and cause us, like serpents, to infold ourselves within ourselves, and to turn out our stings to the entire world besides.
. . . She was obsessed with clothes and status, how she never gave a thought to being responsible for her own actions, or even what she might do for anyone else-making her the ultimate example of all that was wrong and misguided about young women today.
Who made you the center of the universe?
