Quotes About Insecurity

She had the air of someone clinging to a wall of soap.

Happiness made Marv anxious because he knew it didn't last. But happiness destroyed was worth wrapping your arms around because it always hugged you back.

he'd never believed that power, in any shape or form, was anything more than the intemperate protrusion on the egomaniacal heart. Since all egomaniacs were insecure to their frightened cores, they this weilded power barbarically so the world would not find them out

It was hideous. Because if someone can be that happy? That perfect? What's that say about the rest of us?

That's the thing about being a victim; you start to think it'll happen to you on a regular basis. Suddenly everything looks suspect and any brightness you may have noticed the day before has dissipated into the shadows. And the shadows are everywhere. It's living with the reality of your own vulnerability, and it sucks.

Charming as he was, you never felt fully comfortable with the guy, because he never seemed fully comfortable with himself.

Favor and disgrace make one fearful The greatest misfortune is the self

I am a coward, damn you! I couldna tell ye, for fear ye would leave me, and unmanly thing that I am, I thought I couldna bear that!

He who throws dirt is losing ground

It's a terrible thing, to think it might be me that would be the threat, that I could kill you with my love-but it's true.

I want to protect ye, Sassenach-spread myself over ye like a cloak and shield you and the child wi' my body.... I would do anything for ye...and yet...there's nothing I can do. It doesna matter how strong I am, or how willing; I canna go with you where ye must go...not even help ye at all. And to think of the things that might happen, and me helpless to stop them...aye, I'm afraid, Sassenach.

Is thee afraid of me, Rachel?" he whispered. "I am," she whispered back, and closed her hand on his wounded shoulder, lightly but hard enough for him to feel the hurt of it. "And I am afraid for thee, as well. But there are things I fear much more than death—and to be without thee is what I fear most.

Jealousy had nothing to do with logic.

Sometimes it would be months—even a year or more—between episodes, and we would live in peace together. But then it would happen again; the silent phone calls, the too-excused absences, the late nights. Never anything so overt as another woman's perfume, or lipstick on his collar—he had discretion. But I always felt the ghost of the other woman, whoever she was; some faceless, indistinguishable She. I

Is thee afraid of me, Rachel? he whispered. I am, she whispered back, and closed her hand on his wounded shoulder, lightly but not enough for him to feel the hurt of it. And I am afraid for thee, as well. But there are things I fear much more than death--and to be without thee is what I fear most.

was slipping, and his face had gone as white as my own. He looked down again, avoiding my stricken gaze. "I suppose all I was wondering," he murmured, "was…was he…was he different from me?" I saw him bite his lip as though wishing the words unsaid, but it was far too late

Mmphm," I said, sounding self-consciously Scottish.

I lay still, wondering exactly what was the matter with me. Or rather, not what, but why. I knew by now what it was, all right; it was jealousy. I was indeed jealous; an emotion I hadn't felt for some years, and was appalled to feel now. I

You'd think so, wouldn't you?" I said bleakly. "But I don't know, any more than you.

you just said that you suspect my husband of wanting to

Her eyes were fastened on his naked chest, and he was—for the first time in his life—embarrassed by the fact that he possessed nipples.

No great difference at all, perhaps. Was my future any more certain than hers? And did I not depend for my life upon a man bound to me—at least in part—by desire of my body? A

Laoghaire." Even now, I could not repress a brief spurt of rage at the girl's name. Out of thwarted jealousy over my having married Jamie, she had deliberately tried to have me killed. Considerable depths of malice for a sixteen-year-old girl. And even now, mingled with the rage was that tiny spark of grim satisfaction; he's mine, I thought, almost subconsciously. Mine. You'll never take him from me. Never.

Well, I don't suppose it's an impt—impeddy—impediment, after all. Not as though he'd lost his cock, I mean. He hasn't, has he?