Quotes About Sensitivity

You got your dick in the vagina so much I should just call you a pussy.

I like my hair messy. My love wild. And my sex aggressive. But I'm still a sensitive woman, just with passion.

I feel her tears on my face. They feel the same as mine.

I'm a mite worried about how Foodle will respond to being out here," her aunt continued. "She's so sensitive to strange surroundings." Foodle apparently excelled at hiding her sensitivities, for she was chasing her tail with great enthusiasm.

The quality of our lives is determined by our ability to respond to the varied complex situations that we encounter. If the ability to respond with intelligence, competence, and sensitivity is compromised by a compulsive or reactive approach, we are enslaved by the situation. It means we have allowed the nature of our life experience to be determined by our circumstances, not by us. Being

emotional you" is also the "thinking you" – the way you think is the way you feel.

The quality of our lives is determined by our ability to respond to the varied complex situations that we encounter. If the ability to respond with intelligence, competence, and sensitivity is compromised by a compulsive or reactive approach, we are enslaved by the situation. It means we have allowed the nature of our life experience to be determined by our circumstances, not by us.

I Used the Word 'Negro' and I was Firmly Corrected

You are the only human I've never been able to feel coming. I'm the only Guardian who can't sense lycans.

A good eye must be good to see whatsoever is to be seen, and not green things only. For that is proper to sore eyes. So must a good ear, and a good smell be ready for whatsoever is either to be heard, or smelt: and a good stomach as indifferent to all kinds of food, as a millstone is, to whatsoever she was made for to grind.

Si esta el Hombre dotado de sensibilidad e inteligencia y es capaz de fijar altamente la consideración en cuanto pasa en el mundo, no encontrará acaso nada ni aun en lo que acontece como adición natural, qué no suponga una gracia característica.

Karen wasn't hard, she was soft, too soft. A soft touch. Her hair was soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft. She was so soft there was no resistance. Hard things sank into her, they went right through her, and if she made a real effort, out the other side. Then she didn't have to see them or hear them, or even touch them.

Those who have been in trouble themselves are alert to it in others

That way nobody feels exploited." "Wait a minute," says Stan. "Nobody's exploited?" "I said nobody feels exploited," says Budge. "Different thing.

To be rendered unconscious; to lie exposed, without shame, at the mercy of others; to be touched, incised, plundered, remade - this is what they are thinking of when they look at him, with their widening eyes and slightly parted lips.

Only a girl like this can know what's happened to you. If she were here she would reach out her arms towards you now, and touch you with her absent hands and you would feel nothing, but you would be touched all the same.

he doesn't know it, but this touching she does is not only compassionate, but possessive.

All I can hear now is the sound of my own heart, opening and closing, opening and closing, opening

Charis disapproves of crass words like shit. Roz has offered poop , but Charis rejected it as too babyish. Her alimentary canal products? Tony has suggested. No, that sounds too coldly intellectual, said Charis. Her Gifts to the Earth.

You were such a sensitive child. So easily wounded. So I told you those things. I didn't want you to feel defenseless in the face of life. Life can be harsh. I wanted you to feel protected, and to know that there was a greater power watching over you. That the Universe was taking a personal interest.

She sighed. "You were such a sensitive child. So easily wounded. So I told you those things. I didn't want you to feel defenseless in the face of life. Life can be harsh. I wanted you to feel protected, and to know that there was a greater power watching over you. That the Universe was taking a personal interest.

Nothing's broken, nevertheless I'm skinless, the gentlest touch would gut me.

All I can hear now is the sound of my own heart, opening and closing, opening and closing.

while he himself puts them on, like a sock over a foot, onto the stub of himself, his extra, sensitive thumb, his tentacle, his delicate, stalked slug's eye, which extrudes, expands, winces, and shrivels back into himself when touched wrongly, grows big again, bulging a little at the tip, traveling forward as if along a leaf, into them, avid for vision.