Quotes About Vulnerability

I am always disappointed with someone who loves me - how perfect can he be if he can't see through me?

I may not take cristicism well, but that doesn't mean I'm not hearing it. I'll hear it later. Right now I'm storing it in my delayed response area, because it's hard for me. I wish I was someone who welcomed cristicism and immediately understood its valeu, but I'm not, and if I look unhappy about this, I am.

Unfortunately, it hurts all three of my feelings.

Offstage, I couldn't put things into words, and that was the one thing I'd always been able to rely on. Putting my feelings into words and praying they wouldn't be able to get out again.

I suspect that no matter what happens I will allow it to hurt me. Eat away at my insides, as it were—as it will be. As it always has been.

You have the eyes of a doe and the balls of a samurai.

Put it into words—you can't feel words. I think that if I could give a name to what I feel it would go away. Find the word that describes the feeling and say it over and over until it's merely a sound.

Many would argue there are certain otherwise-private stories I might've been wiser to keep closer to the vest. That vest that knows no proximity.

Clothes falling away signals a situation that I'll likely avoid putting into words. If clothes don't dress it up, don't expect talk to, either.

But with these human beings you never know. They might not want to hurt you. They might even like you, and that would be the worst possible thing that could happen. Because what can you do with people that like you, except, of course, inevitably disappoint them?

I suspect that no matter what happens I will allow it to hurt me. Eat away at my insides, as it were - as it will be. As it always has been. Why am I so accessible? Why do I give myself to people who will always and should always remain strangers? I have always relied on the cruelty of strangers and I must stop it now. I am a fool. I need a vacation from myself. I'm not very good at it lately.

A tiny part of me felt like I'd won the man lottery and here I was both counting and spending the money. Our skin agreed. We pressed our luck—first his, then mine, then ours—until we had smoothed our way into the thick of it, until nothing else was possible except to get through to each other, in and on through each other, until we eased into the other side.

Astley comes to my side. "Are you well?" "No," I tell him, voice hoarse. "I am not well. I am broken inside. I am broken almost all-the-way deep, and I don't know...I don't know if I can ever be unbroken, let alone well again".

we all need a little bit of rescuing from time to time. It doesn't make us weak.

Do you like me? You know, like me like me?" I cringe the moment I ask and cover my face with my hands. The smell of blood and trail dirt wafts into my nose. Something sinks inside me. What is it? Oh, I know, any dignity I could possibly have left.

I am not a good fighter," I try to explain again, fingering the edge of my shirt. "I mean, I am really bad at fighting, not as bad as my friend Issie, who is possibly the least fightery person in the world. I mean, I'm getting better, but still... I mean-- oh I'm sorry. I'm babbling.

That's when I realize how much I don't want to be alone, how sobbing should not be a solitary sport..

Maybe," he says slowly, as if each word is an effort, "she took advantage of me.

We all have to feel empty sometimes.

She is carrying round a pizza cutter 4 protection. She's so freaked. She wants me to carry a steak knife.

Why can't we all just be honest with each other? It would be so easy to just not trust anyone ever, but you can't go through life with a pair of scissors in each hand, snip-snip-snipping away at everything people say or don't say, can you? You have to leave one hand free to catch the truth.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears. While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick's furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

So we're effectively cut off from the world with a badly injured woman and a homicidal maniac on the loose.

The one thing I learned the most about acting is it takes a tremendous amount of courage to go there and stand still. It takes courage and guts to step out of your mind frame and depict something.