Quotes About Anxiety

When you have been just told that the girl you love is definitely betrothed to another, you begin to understand how Anarchists must feel when the bomb goes off too soon.

What are the chances of a cobra biting Harold, Jeeves? Slight, I should imagine, sir. And in such an event, knowing the boy as intimately as I do, my anxiety would be entirely for the snake.

The door opened and Oakes entered tensely. He did everything tensely, partly from a natural nervous energy, and partly as a pose.

young women around the age of thirty who are concerned with things like finding a husband, starting a family, paying their bills, and succeeding in their careers, as well as with how they look. I think the most important thing for them to know is that it's really normal to be freaked out about where you are in life, but those things you want so badly will come in due time. Meanwhile, life will be a lot more joyful if you learn how to be comfortable in your own skin.

It was like I had some special strain of Tourette's that made me say exactly the kind of things that would drive him away, even though my biggest fear was that he would leave. Because you know, they always left.

For Dickinson as part of a middle-class community anxious about female creativity, self-assertion, self-expression, and egoism, Shakespeare and Stratford may have been emblems appropriate to her own task as a writer: to achieve literary renown but also authorial disappearance.

When you endure horror day after day, month after month, it becomes normalized. I built high stone walls around my heart—walls that no one could break through or climb over for more than twenty years. My MO was to not think about it, not talk about it. Don't feed the beast. Don't give it any oxygen. It'll go away. For a long time, I made that work, but every now and then, some random thing would trigger a flood of memory and anxiety and crush my soul all over again.

If religion allays anxiety, it cures only a small part of the disease it creates.

Half the world's work's done by hopeless neurotics.

But he does worry about it—in the long hours of darkness. And then, in the morning, he forgets the weakness of the night.

But it's not very likely, is it, that any movement towards greater tolerance would persist in wartime? After all, in war, you've got this enormous emphasis on love between men - comradeship - and everybody approves. But at the same time there's always this little niggle of anxiety. Is it right kind of love? Well, one of the ways you make sure it's the right kind is to make it crystal clear what the penalties for the other kind are.

Half the world's work is done by hopeless neurotics

Paranoia has a sharper taste if the danger is real.

Without my knowledge, the mooncalf bedlam of Ireland had filled me with an incurable anxiety, an uncontrollable temper, a tendency to abuse alcohol, a stubbornness I found both repellent and incurable, and a tendency to always think I'm right. What a screwed up legacy this hard-hearted Ireland left to me.

Throughout my career I've lived in constant fear that I wouldn't be good enough, that I'd have nothing to say, that I'd be laughed at, humiliated—and I'm old enough to know that fear will follow me to the very last word I'll ever write. As

The difference between today and tomorrow is some thing called change. It takes courage to embrace the future, because the future is about change, and change brings uncertainty and anxiety. We fear change; we prefer the comfort of the familiar. But change is inevitable. If we do not become future-focused, we are doomed to obsolescence when tomorrow arrives.

La vie est incertaine, les changements engendrent de la peur et les impressions latentes sont sources de nombreuses douleurs.

You write your first novel with the desperation of the damned. You're afraid that you'll never write anything else, ever again.

Fear kills. Protecting yourself backfires eventually. And living in fear of pain isn't really living at all.

I just tried to put myself in her place and figure out what would be the scariest thing. If I thought I might be dying. And it was being alone' ... 'To me,' she said, 'the scariest thing is oblivion. Being, and then not being.

I'm afraid of sympathy as if it were a collar, tightening.

Her life was a series of zigzags. At nineteen, she was anxious.

A rush of panic comforted him with its familiarity.

It shook Therese in the profoundest part of her where no words were, no easy words like death or dying or killing Those words were somehow future, and this was present. An inarticulate anxiety, a desire to know, know anything for certain, had jammed itself in her throat for a moment she felt she could hardly breathe.