Quotes About Vulnerability

me: you know what sucks about love? o.w.g.: what? me: that it's so tied to the truth. I know it sucks, but in a way, it's good....Love and truth being tied together, I mean. They make each other possible, you know?

I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable nighttime conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there's no light in the room.

So what do you have to confess now? I don't know why I'm saying any of this, except that is the truth. I'm confessing that I don't know if I'm ready for this. What is 'this'? Being open. Being hurt. Liking. Not being liked. Seeing the flicker on. Seeing the flicker off. Leaping. Falling. Crashing.

and when he catches me off guard and says 'i love you' i catch him off guard and say 'i need your help.

Please may this not be a game. Please may this not be a game. Because if it's a game, I know I'm going to lose.

We wish we could show you the world as it sleeps. Then you'd never have any doubt about how similar, how trusting, how astounding and vulnerable we all are.

I saw his scars - the visible ones-and saw how breaking him had not made him any less beautiful. If anything, he stood stronger, because he'd survived.

You can be naked with someone and remain unknowable. You can be someone's secret without ever knowing what the full secret is. You can know he's even more scared than you are, but that doesn't make you any less scared yourself.

I never have people tell me their stories. I usually have to figure them out myself. Because I know that if people tell me stories, they will expect them to be remembered. And I cannot guarantee that. There is no way to know if the stories stay after I'm gone. And how devastating would it be to confide in someone and have the confidence disappear? I don't want to be responsible for that.

There is something so intimate about saying the truth out loud. There is something so intimate about hearing the truth said. There is something so intimate about sharing the truth, even if you are not entirely sure what it means.

Her vulnerability is open, but she's safe within it.

You leave the phone on beside you as you fall asleep. I sit in my bed and listen to your breathing, until I know you are safe, until I know you no longer need me for the night.

We remember what it was like to meet someone new. We remember what it was like to grant someone possibility. You look out from your own world and then you step into his, not really knowing what you'll find there, but hoping it will be something good. Both Ryan and Avery are doing this. You step into his world and you don't even realize your loneliness is missing. You've left it behind, and you don't notice because you have no desire to turn back.

So there we were. Once upon a time, during the storybook version of dating we'd gone through, I'd pretended that it was possible to love her when I only mildly liked her. Now I had no desire to pretend we'd ever be in love, and I liked her madly. 'Can we try to be wise with each other for a very long time?' I asked her. She laughed. 'You mean, can we share our fuckups and see if we can get any wisdom out of them?' 'Yeah,' I said. 'That would be nice.

But I think we were walking around like we were invincible. And maybe that's a bad way to live your life. Because you're not invincible. Nobody is. And maybe now that we've learned that, we'll be better.

i have never had anybody talk to me like this. this is not a flirty sixth-grade phone call or bantering with friends or words passed in a note. i feel that if my soul could talk it would talk like this.

It is an awful thing to be betrayed by your body. And it's lonely, because you feel you can't talk about it.

It is always the ones who believe that are hurt the worst when things go wrong.

Maybe this is what alone really is — finding out how tiny your world is, and not knowing how to get anywhere else.

You shouldn't have to venture deep down in order to get to love.

We often believe the truest measure of a relationship is the ability to lay ourselves bare. But there's something to be said for parading your plumage as well, finding truth as much in the silly as the severe.

Sometimes I wish we could open ourselves up to each other as much as we do to the sky. To the smallness and the enomity.

He's a fuckup, but he's my fuckup," and I thought, Oh, shit, I really shouldn't be relating to this, but I am, and so what? That has to be what love is—seeing what a mess he is and loving him anyway, because you know you're a mess, too, maybe even worse.

She is so lost in her sadness that she has no idea how visible it is. I think I understand her—for a moment, I presume to understand her—but then, from within this sadness, she surprises me with a brief flash of determination. Bravery, even.