Quotes About Self-worth

It is important for a woman to have the duplicity to make good use of whatever gifts she might have, however valueless they might seem... You have to have the inner strength to pursue your goal, and not care how many enemies you make along the road. It is not easy.

She had never been beautiful- she had known that from the start- but she would like to have been loved, above all things. She would have to settle for being liked, perhaps for being trusted, respected. Best of all would have been to have had the courage to stand up for herself and fight for what she believed in.

Too many women waste their lives grieving because they do not have something other people tell them they should want.

Too many women waste their lives grieving because they do not have something other people tell them they should want. Nearly all married women will tell you it is a blessed state, and you are to be pitied for not being in it. That is arrant nonsense. Whether you are happy or not depends to some degree upon outward circumstances, but mostly it depends how you choose to look at things yourself, whether you measure what you have or what you have not.

They're empty, insecure alone; they only feel real when other people listen to them and take notice.

She had never been beautiful—she had known that from the start—but she would like to have been loved, above all things. She would have to settle for being liked, perhaps for being trusted, respected.

My body wasn't the problem; my thoughts and beliefs were.

And I realized that I'd tolerated him this long because of self-doubt.

Don't be a pawn in somebody's game. Find the attitude which gives you the maximum strength and the maximum dignity, no matter what else is going on

Who has a right to tell me I have no gift, no talent, no passion ...' he murmured. 'Why do people say those things to you when youre young? Doesn't seem fair, does it?' 'No, darling, it's not fair,'she said. 'But the mystery is why you listen.

Does anybody look better in rags than me?

ready to fall into my pain again because I deserved it

I would have to ask her, just to make certain I'd done everything I could. But I'd warn her. I have no money, no prospects, an exceedingly ugly face, and my dearest friend is the King of Hell. You think that would stop her? I have no idea. Would it, Lydia? Nothing would stop her, if she loved you. And she does, Charles. She loves your pretty face and you scarred face. She loves your past and your present and she most especially loves your future. Just ask. Marry me, Lydia.

She stopped. Foolish, hurtful thoughts. Why was it that she was the one who was so cruel to herself? No one else, save perhaps her mother, long ago, had ever made her feel ugly. And last night, this morning, Kilmartyn had made her feel… radiant.

It was ridiculous of her to feel so wounded.

Sometimes Willa felt she'd spent half her life apologizing for some man's behavior. More than half her life, actually. First Derek and then Peter, forever charging ahead while Willa trailed behind picking up the pieces and excusing and explaining.

She liked to think that she was wearing her beauty out—using it up, she liked to think. She took some satisfaction in it, like a housewife industriously making her way through a jar of something she did not enjoy, would not buy again, but couldn't just discard, of course.

Sometimes Willa felt she'd spent half her life apologizing for some man's behavior. More than half her life

Sometimes I think I'm nothing but what other people have done to me

It must be horrible to see an ugly face when your surrounded by such beautiful people all the time.

She squeezes my hand, and I feel that certainty I always had as a littlie. That I'm more than expendable. More than a body double.

she'd felt from David was crushed by it. Every day of her life she'd insulted other uglies and had been insulted in return. Fattie, Pig-Eyes, Boney, Zits, Freak—all the names uglies called one another, eagerly and without reserve. But equally, without exception, so that no one felt shut out by some irrelevant mischance of birth.

It didn't matter what you looked like. It was how you carried yourself, how you saw yourself.

It didn't matter what you looked like. It was how you carried yourself, how you saw yourself. Strength and reflexes were only part of it—Shay simply knew that she was special, and so she was. Everyone else was just wallpaper