Quotes About Vulnerability

Aquiles solloza. Me acuna, no come ni pronuncia otra palabra que no sea mi nombre. Contemplo su rostro como si lo viera a través del agua, igual que un pez observa el sol. Vierte una catarata de lágrimas, pero yo no puedo enjugárselas. Este es mi elemento ahora: la media vida de un espíritu insepulto.

Even a best iron grows brittle with too much beating

That was another thing about him. He made you want to spill your secrets.

Birbirimizde yaralar açt?k ama hiçbiri ölümcül de?il.

He showed me his scars. And in return he let me pretend that I had none.

Si dice che le donne siano creature delicate, come fiori, come uova, come qulsiasi cosa che possa essere schiacciata in un momento di negligenza. Se mai ci avevo creduto, non era più così.

Non vedevo i suoi lati peggiori. Anche al suo meglio non era un uomo facile. Ma mi è stato amico in un momento in cui ne avevo bisogno. - Strano pensare che una dea abbia bisogno di amici. - Tutte le creature che non siano pazze ne hanno bisogno.

But there was something else, less easy to name. A loss, or lessening, that I feared her presence might bring.

En muhtaç durumdakilerin en nefret etti?i ?ey minnettarl?kt?r, s?rf kendilerini yeniden iyi hissetmek için ilk f?rsatta sald?r?rlar.

I want to shatter the cold mask of stone that has slipped down over the boy I knew.

If he had looked at me then, I would have broken. I would have begun to weep and never stopped.

I ran my hands over his ribbed scars, easing him as I could. The scars themselves I offered to wipe away. He shook his head. "How would I know myself?

Every moment felt like a drop of my blood lost.

This and this and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender or too slow.

Girls and boys would sigh over him, but all I saw were the thousand soft places of his body where his life might be ended.

Achilles returns to the tent, where my body waits. He is red and red and rust-red, up to his elbows, his knees, his neck, as if he has swum in the vast dark chambers of a heart and emerged, just now, still dripping.

The strangeness began as a prickling of my skin. First the quail went silent, then the dove. The leaves stilled, and the breeze died, and no animals moved in the brush. There was a quality to the silence like a held breath. Like the rabbit beneath the hawk's shadow. I could feel my pulse striking my skin.

Achilles weeps.

That night I lie in bed beside Achilles. His face is innocent, sleep-smoothed and sweetly boyish. I love to see it. This is his truest self, earnest and guileless, full of mischief but without malice. He is lost in Agamemnon and Odysseus' wily double meanings, their lies and games of power. They have confounded him, tied him to a stake and baited him. I stroke the soft skin of his forehead. I would untie him if I could. If he would let me.

She turned her back to me and was silent. A moment passed. I could hear the sound of her breaths, drawn slowly, so I would not guess she was crying. I knew the trick. I had done it myself.

I have heard,' I said, 'that many find their trust in love.

His skin is familiar as my own beneath my fingers. I listen to his breath, warm upon the night air, and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean that it does not hurt. He does not mean that we are not frightened. Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.

Le habían confundido, le habían atado a una apuesta y lo acosaban. Le acaricié la piel suave de la frente. Yo le desataría… si me resultaba posible y él me dejaba.

His eyes narrowed, and I could see the reflexive 'no' in them. I would come to know this type of man, jealous of his little power, to whom I was only a woman.