Quotes About Insecurity

Demek beni k?skanm?yorsunuz ha?" dedi. "Beni sahiden bu kadar çok mu seviyorsun?

Bir kad?n herhangi bir ?ekilde ho?uma gidince ilk yapt???m i? ondan kaçmak olurdu. Kar?? kar??ya geldi?im zaman her hareketimin, her bak???m?n s?rr?m? meydana vuraca??ndan korkar, tarif edilmesi imkâns?z, adeta bo?ucu bir utanma ile dünyan?n en zavall? bir insan? haline gelirdim.

Yahu ne oluyor bunlara? Hemen ölüyor muyuz? Ölsek ne olacak sanki... Onlara ne? Ben onlar için neyim? Ben onlar için hiçbir ?ey de?ilim. Hiç bir ?ey de?ildim... Senelerden beri ayn? evde beraber ya?ad?k. Bu adam kimdir diye merak etmediler... ?imdi çekip gidece?imden korkuyorlar...

Ništa me nije plašilo toliko kao obligacija da ispravljam o meni ste?ena tu?a pogrešna uvjerenja.

Jednom sam se i ja odvažio pisati, pa ?ak i žvrljati kratke pjesme, ali sam od toga brzo odustao: strah od toga da ono što se nalazi u meni na bilo koji na?in izbije na površinu, ta besmislena i nepotrebna plašljivost sprje?avala je moje pisanje.

When you pursue your own likes and dislikes, you feel alone in this vast existence, constantly insecure, unstable, psychologically challenged. But once existence yields to you, it delivers you to a different place of grace—where every pebble, every rock, every tree, every atom, speaks to you in a language you understand.

Unfortunately, these days even so-called spiritual leaders are talking about self-esteem. "Self" and "esteem" are both a problem. Both are very limited entities; both are fragile; both will always be insecure. If you have no esteem, very good. If you have no self, fabulous!

The impending possibility that it will fall apart one day is torture—often worse than the actual disaster.

When people feel insecure they want to drink and sleep, because sleep is just a small manifestation of death.

Ich habe noch nie einen Schriftsteller kennengelernt, der nicht eitel und nicht egozentrisch gewesen wäre – es sei denn, es war ein besonders schlechter Autor.

I know it doesn't sound logical but that's the way it is ' said papá. 'There are people who try to control the people they love or try to make them feel insecure or inferior or unworthy. They can be very hurtful but they're the sad people. They're afraid of being abandoned they're afraid of not being loved.' pg 116

It never ceases to amaze me: we all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinion than our own.

III. I have often wondered how it should come to pass, that every man loving himself best, should more regard other men's opinions concerning himself than his own. For if any God or grave master standing by, should command any of us to think nothing by himself but what he should presently speak out; no man were able to endure it, though but for one day. Thus do we fear more what our neighbours will think of us, than what we ourselves.

You want the praise of people who kick themselves every 15 minutes. The praise of people who despise themselves?

It never ceases to amaze me: we all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinions than our own

En política sólo puedes estar seguro de una cosa, de que jamás puedes estar seguro de nada

You are rich in every way, and I am nothing but the reflection I see in your eyes.

They said I was the most beautiful of women. My beauty was a beauty that inspired as much fear as desire.

And she finds it difficult to believe—that a person would love her even when she isn't trying. Trying to figure out what other people need, trying to be worthy.

I avoid looking down at my body, not so much because it's shameful or immodest but because I don't want to see it. I don't want to look at something that determines me so completely.

They will not let you have peace, they don't want you to have anything they don't have themselves.

It was like being in an elevator cut loose at the top. Falling, falling, and not knowing when you will hit.

When I was younger I used to think that if I could hug myself tight enough I could make myself smaller, because there was never enough room for me, at home or anywhere, but if I was smaller then I would fit in.

A wave of blood goes up to my head, my stomach shrinks together, as if something dangerous has just missed hitting me. It's as if I've been caught stealing, or telling a lie; or as if I've heard other people talking about me, saying bad things about me, behind my back. There's the same flush of shame, of guilt and terror, and of cold disgust with myself. But I don't know where these feelings have come from, what I've done.