Quotes About Insecurity

As I traveled toward Milan, I discovered that, with Lila set aside, I didn't know how to give myself substance except by modeling myself on Nino. I was incapable of being a model for myself. Without him I no longer had a nucleus from which to expand outside the neighborhood and through the world, I was a pile of debris.

Temía que en mi ausencia le ocurrieran cosas, buenas o malas. Era un temor antiguo, un temor que no había superado: el miedo de que al perderme trozos de su vida, la mía perdiera intensidad e importancia.

Forse, di fronte all'abbandono, siamo tutti uguali; forse nemmeno una testa molto ordinata può reggere alla scoperta di non essere amata.

If she kept him next to her she was afraid of breaking him, if she pushed him too far away she was afraid of losing him.

tenía miedo de que me acusaran de ser como era de hecho, distraída y ausente, concentrada en mí misma.

Ich würde immer Angst haben: Angst davor, einen falschen Satz zu sagen, einen übertriebenen Ton anzuschlagen, unpassend gekleidet zu sein, kleinliche Gefühle zu offenbaren, keine interessanten Gedanken zu haben.

Then I felt as if my thoughts were cut off in the middle, absorbing and yet defective, with an urgent need for verification, for development, yet without conviction, without faith in themselves.

Comment avais-je pu imaginer lui plaire, ne serait-ce que le temps des vacances, moi la petite ronde à lunettes, certes appliquée mais pas intelligente, moi qui prétendais être cultivée et informée mais ne l'étais pas?

At those moments I took it for granted that there was not and never would be a manuscript of Lila's. I had always overestimated her, nothing memorable would emerge from her - something that reassured me and yet truly upset me. I loved Lila. I wanted her to last. But I wanted it to be I who made her last. I thought it was my task. I was convinced that she herself, as a girl, had assigned it to me.

Was it possible that I—short, too full-figured, wearing glasses, I diligent but not intelligent, I who pretended to be cultured, informed, when I wasn't—could have believed that he would like me even just for the length of a vacation?

Maybe I'm not so ugly, I thought, maybe I can't see myself.

Tal vez no sea tan fea, pensé, tal vez soy yo la que no sé verme.

Una lunga, costosa preparazione. Un ridurmi a tavola imbandita per l'appetito sessuale del maschio, a vivanda ben cucinata perché gli venga l'acquolina in bocca. E poi l'angoscia di non farcela, di non sembrare bella, di non essere riuscita a celare con destrezza la volgarità della carne con i suoi umori e odori e difformità.

I had too many worries and, whatever I did, the feeling of always being in the wrong.

Krása, kterou mÄ›la Cerullová odmali?ka v hlavÄ›, nenaÅ¡la cestu ven, Grecová, celá se jí vrazila do obli?eje, do prsou, do stehen a do prdele, do míst, kde rychle uvadne a je to, jako bys ji nikdy nemÄ›la.

when you don't know how to keep a man you lose everything, (…)

I began to weep with loneliness. What was I, who was I? I felt pretty again, my pimples were gone, the sun and the sea had made me slimmer, and yet the person I liked and whom I wished to be liked by showed no interest in me. What signs did I carry, what fate?

She was submissive, she gave in immediately out of fear of not being liked, it depressed her that she had given in.

forse, di fronte all'abbandono, siamo tutti uguali; forse nemmeno una testa molto ordinata può reggere alla scoperta di non essere amata.

Recordaba un tono despreciativo que yo había adoptado, ciertos fragmentos de la charla con la que había tratado de impresionar, y me entraba una sensación de frío y náuseas, quería echarme de mí misma, como si fuera a vomitarme.

Peut-être étais-je belle même si mon mari avait fait du sentiment de ma beauté une boulette et l'avait jetée dans une poubelle, comme un papier qui aurait enveloppé un cadeau.

Ich liebte sie beide, daher gelang es mir nicht, mich selbst zu lieben, mich zu spüren, mich mit meinem Bedürfnis nach Leben zu behaupten, das die gleiche blinde und taube Kraft hatte wie ihres. So kam es mir vor.

How can I explain to this woman—I thought—that from the age of six I've been a slave to letters and numbers, that my mood depends on the success of their combinations, that the joy of having done well is rare, unstable, that it lasts an hour, an afternoon, a night?

us. I felt like a drop of rain in a spiderweb, and I was careful not to slide down.