Quotes About Insecurity

Mom's got this secret fear that if you don't control your life, if you don't control your man, he will eventually destroy you.

Lily had lived in fear before she knew why she was afraid. She'd grown up knowing that people hated her. Perfectly ordinary people, the kind of adults who ought to be helping her to cross the road, hated Lily and wanted her gone. That was the climate of her childhood.

I cry because I don't have the upper-arm strength to flatiron my hair. I

I'm no good at anything. Not men. Not social skills. Not work. Nothing.

Oh God, what's wrong with me? Why does nothing ever work out?

I've seen the way she comes on to him—I just can't stand it. You know—what really shits me is how you spend years working on yourself to get rid of all that stupid eyelash-fluttering and giggling, and then just when you think you're getting somewhere, you find out that guys still like women who do that sort of thing. I watch 'em fall for it, every time.

Feeling insecure is good for you. It forces you to do something better, drives you to use all your talents.

I think now that White's quest for the hawks was his final test of Gos: he was behaving like a fearful man who has finally won someone's love and, unsure whether that love can be trusted, decides it is safer to obsess about someone else.

Would that be dangerous, to not look while being looked at?

She was only fifteen. At that age embarassment is something you can actually die of.

her body held in frightened rigidity because if she dared stop clapping then a bad thing would come.

She didn't look into the mirror itself. She was becoming someone, it seemed. She had read somewhere that you only became a woman once your mother had died. But that wasn't what worried her. She worried about becoming as perfect as the person shown to her on paper in Lily's studio.

Sometimes I say terrible things to him because I don't want him to know I'm sad; sometimes I fly off the handle to hide the fact that I don't know what I'm talking about. And other times--too often, maybe--I don't dare have an opinion in case it upsets anyone.

And other times—too often, maybe—I don't dare have an opinion in case it upsets anyone.

Once you let people know anything about what you think, that's it, you're dead. Then they'll be jumping about in your mind, taking things out, holding them up to the light and killing them, yes, killing them, because thoughts are supposed to stay and grow in quiet, dark places, like butterflies in cocoons.

I sat with my head in my hands, shaking. Because the situation was so much worse than I'd thought. My husband was trying to choose between me, his wife, and someone he had made up. And I, the real woman, the wife, had nothing on the made-up girl. We each had five points in our favour. That son of a bitch.

It was like dancing with a mask that was attached to a stick—she dared not lower it, no matter how tiring it was to hold the mask up. She was the ugly girl at the ball.

Her superpower was picking emotionally unavailable partners and she doubted she'd get a better offer

I've been so afraid of getting closeness wrong, because I don't know how to do it, because I don't know what my mistakes reveal --maybe they reveal very good reasons for my having been unloved as a child, I just don't know.

He was good-looking. Enough to make me feel uncomfortable. Tall and dark, etc.

But in an unfamiliar house, when you're uncertain where you're going, every movement is prolonged by the sense that you're going to try the wrong door or get in someone's way and bother someone.

The chief excitement in a woman's life is spotting women who are fatter than she is.

Jealousy is the tie that binds, and binds, and binds.

wondering how on earth hospital staff have seen fit to allow us custody of an actual human being. (Me: 'I can't even keep our houseplants alive!' Lego Man: 'We have houseplants?')