Quotes About Vulnerability

Ask any of us cynical bastards. to lift up our shirt, and we'll show you where we got shot in the heart.

What are our stories if not the mirrors we hold up to our fears?

I wrapped my arms around my chest. I'd read somewhere that that was an instinct left over from caveman days: protect your heart.

Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems

Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you? I am not afraid, I have been well brought forward by you...

I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undisguised and naked;

LET us twain walk aside from the rest; Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony, Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none—Tell me the whole story, Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife, husband, or physician.

Agonies are one of my changes of garments; I do not ask the wounded person how he feels . . . . I myself become the wounded person, My hurt turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.

O baffled, baulked, bent to the very earth, Oppressed with myself that I have dared to open my mouth, Aware now that, amid all the blab whose echoes recoil upon me, I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my insolent poems, the real ME stands yet untouched, untold, altogether unreached, Withdrawn

Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

Loafe with me on the grass.... loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want.... not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how we lay in June, such a transparent summer morning; You settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my barestript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

gently turned over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my barestript heart

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Nem az ellenségeim rontanak reám – részükrÅ'l büszkeségemet nem fenyegeti kár; De a szeretÅ'k, akiket önzetlenül szeretek, – lássátok, hogy uralkodnak rajtam! Íme! rajtam, az erejétÅ'l megfosztotton, aki örökkön támasz nélküli és örökkön kiszolgáltatott! A legnyomorultabban csúszkálok elÅ'ttük a földön.

Sétáljunk tova ketten a többitÅ'l; Most együtt vagyunk szemtÅ'l-szembe, hagyd abba a ceremóniát, Jer! tedd meg nekem, amit még nem tettél meg senkinek – Mondd el nekem az egész történetet, Mondd el nekem, amit nem mondanál el fivérednek, feleségednek, férjednek, vagy az orvosodnak.

They say death's a going to bed; I doubt it; but anyhow life's a long undressing. We came in puling and naked, and every stitch must come off before we get out again. We must stand on our feet in all our Rabelaisian nakedness, and watch the world fade.

Sometimes everybody touches in the dark. You touch to see what you can stand to touch, what you can to feel with your fingers probing parts you never though you could probably probe - Gray

It's hard to be brave when you can stumble across a world of hurt around any corner.

CUT TO: ERNIE, another prisoner, sitting on john, pants down.

Simply handing over your iPod to a friend, your blind date, or the total stranger sitting next to you on the plane opens you up like a book. (Steven Levy)

He had the uncanny capacity to know exactly what your weak point is, know what will make you feel small, to make you cringe, Joanna Hoffman said. It's a common trait in people who are charismatic and know how to manipulate people. Knowing that he can crush you makes you feel weakened and eager for his approval, so then he can elevate you and put you on a pedestal and own you.

I don't have any skeletons in my closet that can't be allowed out.