Quotes About Vulnerability

This is so embarrassing, Melantha murmured as he stopped beside her bed and leaned down to settle her on the mattress. His lips, she thought, brushed her temple. You frightened me out of ten years of my life when you tumbled off the couch, he muttered near her ear. You are not allowed to faint unless it is from my kisses.

You've always tried to pretend you don't need anyone, Tash, but you do. We all do. So just let me be there for you. -Sophie

When we fall in love, we hope - both egotistically and altruistically - that we shall be finally, truly seen: judged and approved. Of course, love does not always bring approval: being seen may just as well lead to a thumbs-down and a season in hell.

You must not be angry with me. You must think of me as an incomplete person.

Todas as histórias de amor são potenciais histórias de dor. Se não no princípio, depois. Se não para um, para o outro. Às vezes para ambos.

It may be all right, you may have talked about it and agreed it was all right, but that's not how sex works, is it? It's where the unsayable is king; it's where madness and surprise rule; it's where the cheques you write for ecstasy are drawn on the bank of despair.

And in these times, people were always in danger of becoming less than fully themselves. If you terrorised them enough, they became something else, something diminished and reduced: mere techniques for survival. And so, it was not just an anxiety, but often a brute fear that he experienced: the fear that love's last days had come.

I don't ever want to get old. Spare me that. Have you the power? No, even you don't have the power, alas.

Once bitten, twice shy; twice bitten, forever shy.

I blushed. You haven't seen a bald man in his sixties blush? Oh, it happens, just as it does to a hairy, spotty fifteen-year-old. And because it's rarer, it sends the blusher tumbling back to that time when life felt like nothing more than one long sequence of embarrassments.

You might even ask me to apply my 'theory' to myself and explain what damage I had suffered a long way back and what its consequences might be: for instance, how it might affect my reliability and truthfulness. I'm not sure I could answer this, to be honest.

I didn't want the day to unravel. Though looking back, it was not the day, but the four of us, that were beginning to unravel.

Never forget, the most vulnerable spot is down the middle.

Fearless to the strong; humble to the weak

you have blown a large breach in the walls of my existence.

Vivimos a ras de suelo, en lo llano, y sin embargo aspiramos a elevarnos [...] Algunos se elevan por medio del arte, otros con la religión; la mayoría, con el amor. Pero al elevarnos también podemos caer en picado [...] Cada historia de amor es en potencia una historia de aflicción. Si no al principio, más tarde. Si no para uno, para el otro. A veces para ambos

someone who will manipulate your inner self while holding hers back from you.

Sad sex is when you feel you're losing all touch with her, and she with you, but this is the way of telling one another that the connection is still there, somehow; that neither of you is giving up on the other, even if part of you fears that you should. Then you discover that insisting on the connection is the same as prolonging the pain.

You put us on a pedestal in order to look up our skirts.

Fear: what did those who inflicted it know? They knew that it worked, even how it worked, but not what it felt like. 'The wolf cannot speak of the fear of the sheep,' as they say.

Early on, she had told him, tenderly, that she had been attracted to him because he was pure and open. But if this didn't make her love him as much as he loved her, then he wished it were otherwise. Not that he felt pure and open. They sounded like words designed to keep him in a box

I don't want you to be a woman of mystery. I think I'd hate it. Either it's just a façade, a game, a technique for ensnaring men, or else the woman of mystery is a mystery even to herself, and that's the worst of all.

Nors kartais pirmoji meil? sugildo šird?, ir kiekvienas, bandantis j? v?l atverti, neranda nieko, tik sen? rand?.

was my closest friend, and continued so for many years. He was the gentlest of us, the most thoughtful, the one who put most trust in others. And—perhaps because of these very qualities—he was the one who had most trouble with girls and, later, women. Was there something about his softness, and his inclination to forgive, which almost provoked bad behaviour in others? I wish I knew the answer to that, not least because of the time I let him down badly. I