Quotes About Vulnerability

The Risen Lord is indeed risen. Present, intimate, creative, 'closer than your own heartbeat,' accessed through your vulnerability, your capacity for intimacy. The imaginal realm is real, and through it you will never be separated from any one or anything you have ever loved, for love is the ground in which you live and move and have your being. This is the message that Mary Magdalene has perennially to bring. This is the message we most need to hear.

He took his time getting to her, as if he was sure she'd wait, sure of his own strength to hold her, even at that distance. He moved like he thought she was afraid of him, too afraid to run.

Some secrets were so dangerous that they should never be kept.

Fear burned through him, like a flame. Fear coursed through him, like icy water. He threw his head back and raised his dagger, to strike -- and cried out wordlessly, as if the great cry could gather all his fear together and set its swelling course behind him, to add it to his strength.

The Damall liked to see Nikol being angry and not being able to do anything about it. The Damall liked to see Nikol being afraid and being ashamed.

The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.

Human love, human trust, are always perilous, because they break down. The greater the love, the greater the trust, and the greater the peril, the greater the disaster. Because to place absolute trust on another human being is in itself a disaster, both ways, since each human being is a ship that must sail its own course, even if it go in company with another ship.... And yet, love is the greatest thing between human beings.

Horrors might burst out of them. But something must burst out, sometimes, if men are not machines.

She, herself, was so forlorn and unused, not a female at all, just a mere thing of terrors.

Yes, this was love, this ridiculous bouncing of the buttocks, and the wilting of the poor, insignificant, moist little penis.

She felt unpeeled and rather exposed. She felt almost improper.

That's it! When you come to know men, that's how they are: too sensitive in the wrong place.

My God, these folks don't know how to love -- that's why they love so easily.

In the short summer night she learned so much. She would have thought a woman would have died of shame... She felt, now, she had come to the real bedrock of her nature, and was essentially shameless. She was her sensual self, naked an unashamed. She felt a triumph, almost a vainglory. So! That was how it was! That was life! That was how onself really was! There was nothing left to disguise or be ashamed of. She shared her ultimate nakedness with a man, another being.

They wanted genuine intimacy, but they could not get even normally near to anyone, because they scorned to take the first steps, they scorned the triviality which forms common human intercourse.

You know, he said, with an effort, 'if one person loves, the other does.' …'I hope so, because if it were not, love might be a very terrible thing,' she said. 'Yes, but it is - at least with most people,' he answered.

But you don't fuck me cold-heartedly,' she protested. 'I don't want to fuck you at all.' Lady Chatterly's Lover

Sex is really only touch, the closest of all touch. And it's touch we're afraid of. We're only half-conscious, and half-alive. We've for to come alive and aware. Especially the English have got to get into touch with one another, a bit delicate and a bit tender. It's our crying need.

Te iubesc foarte mult.. dar undeva, lipseÈ™te ceva. - Unde? întreb? ea privindu-l. -O, în?untru, în mine. Eu ar trebui s? m? ruÈ™inez.. sunt un olog psihic.

She turned, and saw a great white moon looking at her over the hill. And her breast opened to it, she was cleaved like a transparent jewel to its light. She stood filled with the full moon, offering herself. Her two breasts opened to make way for it, her body opened wide like a quivering anemone, a soft, dilated invitation touched by the moon.

Quiero un amor que sea como un sueño, como dormir, como nacer de nuevo, vulnerable como un niño en el instante de llegar al mundo.

Don't ask me anything about the future," he said miserably. "I don't know anything. Be with me now, will you, no matter what it is?" And she took him in her arms.

Sex is really only touch, the closest of all touch. And it's touch we're afraid of. We're only half-conscious, and half alive.

He would behave in the same way, say the same things, give himself completely to anybody who came along, anybody and everybody who liked to appeal to him. It was despicable, a very insidious form of prostitution.