Quotes About Vulnerability

Tek što do?emo na svet, rekao je Flober, ,,a ve? s nas po?nu da otpadaju komadi?i.

khi ta tr? và nh?y c?m, cÅ©ng là lúc ta hay Ä'i gieo Ä'au Ä'á»›n nh?t

when I see pairs of young lovers, vertically entwined on street corners, or horizontally entwined on a blanket in the park, the main feeling it arouses in me is a kind of protectiveness. No, not pity: protectiveness. Not that they would want my protection. And yet—and this is curious—the more bravado they show in their behaviour, the stronger my response. I want to protect them from what the world is probably going to do to them, and from what they will probably do to one another.

But he knew that she used to read his diary. So he would deliberately write into it, for a date a few weeks ahead, 'Suicide'. Or, sometimes, 'Marriage

Irony, he had come to realise, was as vulnerable to the accidents of life and time as any other sense. You woke up one morning and no longer knew if your tongue was in your cheek; and even if it was, whether that mattered anymore, whether anyone noticed. You imagined you were issuing a beam of ultraviolet light, but what if it failed to register because it was off the spectrum known to everyone else?

Bet kai esi labai protingas, tai, manau, kas nors gali išmušti tave iš v?ži?, jeigu nepasisaugosi

Their pretensions are naked and vulnerable and for that reason, to me at least, rather charming.

To know someone, to be known. That matters more than he'd ever thought it would.

She] knows that it's fear that keeps her love in check. but what if falling in love i a sign not of weakness but of courage? what if it isnt falling or crashing but taking a leap?

She] knows that it's fear that keeps her love in check. But what if falling in love is a sign not of weakness but of courage? What if it isnt falling or crashing but taking a leap?

Una sensación etérea en la barriga y el corazón aporreándole el pecho como si se estuviera cayendo, y cayendo.

You must never be embarrassed when you are moved by music?' ["Madame" Lilian Stiles-Allen] counseled. 'It shows that you are a sensitive human being, capable of much feeling.

I know what you think of me, Miles. I know what you--have thought of me. But I have a heart. I do have a heart. I just cannot afford to use it. Don't you see? Why can't you see this? Whereas you--may play at all of this as much as you like. There will always be someone for you. And that is the difference. I cannot afford to use my heart. And you--you choose not to use yours.' - Cynthia Brightley to Miles Redmond

And before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and with a thumb brushed away one teardrop glistening in that mauve crescent beneath her eyes. And then he looked down at his thumb, and rubbed the tear out of existence, right into his skin.

And as she looked back at him, she felt the serrated edges of her heart in her chest. But also a sort of dizzying vastness: she could face anything now.

Before him and since he'd gone away, she'd either contracted or ever-so-subtly contorted her very being to accommodate nearly everybody else. She was only ever wholly herself with him.

She wanted to buckle, lie on her side and gasp like an eviscerated fish. She held her breath against it, but her mouth parted. She cared naught for living in the moment, but apparently her body was sensible. It wanted to breathe.

How had she ever thought his blue eyes placid as a lake? But there was untold power in any water: to buoy, to drown, to toss, to carry one to the safety of shore.

Even cliffs are vulnerable, Captain Eversea, she thought. The sea gets at them, eventually, reshaping them inexorably, giving them no choice at all in the matter.

He composed himself inwardly. Sparing the world his awkwardness, hiding vulnerability. Preserving his pride.

Such a fragile way to sustain a whole life: on a web one weaves for oneself.

The line of Miss Eversea's spine seemed positively 'alive' with... something. Outrage? Horror? Hilarity? He noticed the very fine line of hair traveling up the fragile nape of her neck, and something about that intimate little trail made the back of his own neck tingle as though she'd brushed her fingers there. Something entirely unexpected was happening in the region of his solar plexus.

Delilah had been transferred from her father's household to her husband's like crated porcelain.

Her heart was walloping away in her throat, and she was certain he could feel it, as his fingers lingered there. Nearly everything on her body that could stand erect was erect now, clamoring for his touch. The hair on the back of her neck, her arms. Her nipples. Are you afraid, Genevieve? No. You do enjoy saying my name. It has a lilt. I see. Her voice was faint. Because you should consider being a little afraid.