Quotes About Anxiety

A wife's a worry, a non-wife's even worse.

In the depths of his heart Vasili Andreevich knew that it could not yet be near morning, but he was growing more and more afraid, and wished both to get to know and yet to deceive himself.

there was apparent in all a sort of anxiety, a softening of the heart, and a consciousness of some great, unfathomable mystery being accomplished... the most solemn mystery in the world was being accomplished. Evening passed, night came on. And the feeling of suspense and softening of the heart before the unfathomable did not wane, but grew more intense. No one slept.

Speak to her now? But that's just why I'm afraid to speak—because I'm happy now, happy in hope, anyway… . And then?… . But I must! I must! I must! Away with weakness!

But as a young man in love trembles and thrills, not daring to utter what he dreams of by night, and looks about fearfully, seeking help or the possibility of delay and flight, when the desired moment comes and he stands alone with her, so now Rostov, having attained what he desired more than anything in the world, did not know how to approach the sovereign and presented thousands of considerations to himself for why it was unsuitable, improper, and impossible.

He talked of this, and passionately longed to hear more of Kitty, and, at the same time, was afraid of hearing it. He dreaded the breaking up of the inward peace he had gained with such effort. "Yes,

She said to herself: "No, just now I can't think of it, later on, when I am calmer." But this calm for thought never came; every time the thought rose of what she had done and what would happen to her, and what she ought to do, a horror came over her and she drove those thoughts away. "Later, later," she said—"when I am calmer.

Soon after the doctor, Dolly had arrived. She knew that there was to be a consultation that day, and though she was only just up after her confinement (she had another baby, a little girl, born at the end of the winter), though she had trouble and anxiety enough of her own, she had left her tiny baby and a sick child, to come and hear Kitty's fate, which was to be decided that day.

I think it has other roots, has to do, in part, with a general anxiety in contemporary life... nuclear bombs, inequality of possibility and chance, inequality of goods allotted to us, a kind of general racist, unjust attitude that is pervasive.

Stunned and still not suffering. Swollen with care and anxiety and still not suffering. Useless, old and full of grief, but still not suffering.

I'm afraid to live any place but in expectation. I'm no life-risk.

Nothing matters. You get yourself into a state in which you imagine things which have no basis in reality... One begins for some reason to worry about something and, if one allows oneself to go on doing that, one gradually imagines all kinds of things. It is a kind of self-indulgence and one gets into a perpetual daydream. It is essential to stop this process and face the real world -- which is never so bad as all that.

Just as courage imperils life; fear protects it.

La paura gli stava dentro come un cane arrabbiato: guaiva, ansava, sbavava, improvvisamente urlava nel suo sonno; e mordeva, dentro mordeva, nel fegato nel cuore. Di quei morsi al fegato che continuamente bruciavano e dell'improvviso doloroso guizzo del cuore come di un coniglio vivo in bocca al cane, i medici avevano fatto diagnosi, e medicine gli avevano dato da riempire tutto il piano del comò: ma non sapevano niente, i medici, della sua paura.

Fences made of fear.

Throughout evolutionary history, anxiety and fear have helped every species to be wary and to survive. Fear can signal us to act, or, alternatively, to resist the impulse to act. It can help us to make wise, self-protective choices in and out of relationships where we might otherwise sail mindlessly along, ignoring signs of trouble.

Fear has never helped anybody make good choices. It leads to clinging when we should be walking.

A lot of people do not muster the courage to live their dreams because they are afraid to die.

Waiting anxiously for you, Unable to sleep, but falling into a doze— Are those words of love Floating to my pillow, Or is this too a dream . . . ? My eyes open and here is my tear-drenched sleeve. Perhaps it was a sudden rain.

A watched pot never boils. But it does get paranoid.

Fear has no brains; it is an idiot.

But I am clinically depressed and have an anxiety disorder, which interferes with things like studying and learning and breathing and living. He thinks it's something I can just turn off and on with willpower.

Fear is a sneaky thief, stealing away precious moments of your life.

Look at it this way: there are many here among us for whom the life force is best represented by the livid twitching of one tortured nerve, or even a full-scale anxiety attack. I do not subscribe to this point of view 100%, but I understand it, have lived it. Thus the shriek, the caterwaul, the chainsaw gnarlgnashing, the yowl and the whizz that decapitates may be reheard by the adventurous or emotionally damaged as mellifluous bursts of unarguable affirmation.