Quotes About Insecurity

Only a country that feels invulnerable can afford political turmoil as entertainment.

We are precarious. Which is to say some good things (accumulation of diverse knowledges, skills and abilities through work and life experiences in permanent construction), and a lot of bad ones (vulnerability, insecurity, poverty, social exposure).

So, what's up with you and Damian?" Helena asks. "What do you mean?" I can feel the hear of a blush coloring on my cheeks. I can't ever seem to not show how I feel. It's becoming pretty annoying.

And I am so dull and dirty. Like a small brown toad. He does not see me. How could he see me, when she is before him? Glowing and gilded in gold.

I don't know why I'm always screwing up at everything, even when I try so hard, all the time, not to. I'd do better if I could, I really would. But I don't know how. There are a lot of things I don't know.

Here's a little secret: ironically, people with dominant Seductor Imposters might seem to crave intimacy—they certainly draw people into their orbit with the promise of it—but what actually animates them behind the scenes is fear of it.

Paradoxically, deep down, people with dominant Egotist Imposters often have compromised self-esteem, even though they seem to brim with self-centeredness and what masquerades as self-love.

Because deep down inside, she was scared. Scared of being alone, scared of being an outsider. Scared that she had all of her chances of happiness; and blown each and every one of them.

Freddie couldn't help himself sometimes. His dad was just so fucking perfect. Or at least that was the overriding narrative. Amazing Tom Fitzwilliam. Isn't he handsome? Isn't he clever? Isn't he charming? Isn't he tall? Hasn't he got an enormously huge dick? Well, no one had ever actually said that, but he did. Freddie had seen it.

that a man who can't love but desperately needs to be loved is a dangerous thing indeed.

I mean," says Blue, "that a man who can't love but desperately needs to be loved is a dangerous thing indeed.

Someone, somewhere has liked something that Jasmine has posted on Instagram. This means that Alice's phone will continue to pop for the next ten minutes or so as everyone Jasmine knows likes the thing she posted. Alice pictures a sea of disembodied thumbs senselessly pressing hearts. She sighs.

His mum, like him, had no friends. It was as if they could tell, he thought, they could tell she wasn't ever going to be one of them. She was always going to be trying, never just being.

Forty-two is a strange age. Neither young nor old. If I were straight, I suppose I'd be frantically flailing around right now trying to find a last-minute wife with functioning ovaries. As it is, I am not straight, and neither am I the sort of man that other men wish to form lengthy and meaningful relationships with, so that leaves me in the worst possible position—an unlovable gay man with fading looks.

It's the money thing,' he said after a short, murky moment of post-coital silence. 'It's … I'm not used to this. I'm not used to being poor. I'm not used to having to take money from the woman I love. I'm just … I'm emasculated, Rachel. I'm fucking emasculated.

And I'm so sorry that I am such a loser. That I make such shit choices all the time, that I am fucking thirty-three and I don't own anything and that you have to keep propping me up and bailing me out and that I can't even make a marriage last for longer than two months.' She sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks. 'And I'm sorry that I'm all you've got. You deserve better than me, Dad, you really, really do. I'm so sorry.

She thinks, You didn't see the look he gave me just now on the stairs. You don't know how he looks at me when you're not in the room; the way his voice sets hard like stone, his eyes bore through me like lasers. You really don't know.

when she went from being the sort of girl who drank warm cider with rough boys to the sort of girl who had the love of a real man, who had beautiful babies and a two-bedroom flat. But that girl … that girl is starting to feel like a shapeshifter, a fraud, a one-dimensional paper doll.

Now that he was basically bankrolling her, the conversations made her feel inadequate and edgy.

Had Simpering Rachel who clutched men's arms at parties in order to repel a competitor for his attentions been there all along? How awful, she thought to herself. How absolutely awful.

To put to rest any doubts you might have… I'm jealous of every man who comes within ten feet of you. I'm jealous of the clothes on your skin and the air you breathe. I'm jealous of every moment you spend out of my sight

Because letting someone in close meant they could hurt you. I knew all about that kind of fear. I lived with it.

He had found my worst weakness: I was one of those people who was desperate to be needed, to matter to someone.

For God's sake, Marks, do you think anyone really wants a glance at those dried-up matchsticks you call legs?