Quotes About Vulnerability

Let me tell you something. When there is a penalty kick, most people think that the penalty taker is in control. But they are wrong. The penalty taker is full of fear, because he is expected to score. He is under great pressure. He has many choices to make, and as he places the ball and walks back to make his run, his mind is full of the possibility of failure. This makes him vulnerable, and it makes the keeper very powerful.

If you weren't here and Oma died, I'd deal with it. Because there'd be nothing more to lose. It'd be just me. But now it's different; it's worse. Because you're yet another person to lose. You do stupid, dangerous things, and every time you go away, I pray in agony that you'll come back. It's unfair. Hope is pulling me to pieces. I can't stand it.

life can turn from being cheerful, warm and cozy to negative in a sec, and all it takes is us handing the power of happiness over to another human being.

The Initiate must be totally naked, to demonstrate that he is truly a human being and not something else in disguise like a cabbage or something.

Every policeman knows the truth: there is no limit to the things that people will do to other people. And every torturer knows the way to make a man betray himself. It doesn't matter how tough he is, how many torments he can endure on his own body, he can't endure even the whisper of evil being done to his darling.

In the night, when the world hates you, it helps to sleep in the arms of someone who doesn't.

It would be years before I understood that tenderness is the weapon used by the torturer to win over his victim.

You trample on hearts as if they're grapes and you're making wine.

Don't you know that boys don't cry?' Adam grinned. 'Shall I tell you something I've only recently discovered,' I replied, not attempting to hide the tears rolling down my face and not the least bit ashamed of them. 'Boys don't cry, but real men do.

I pulled him closer to me, wrapping my arms around him, kissing him just as desperately as he was kissing me. Like if we could just love long enough and hard enough and deep enough, then the world outside would never, could never hurt us.

Was that all love did for you? Made you give up and give in? Left you open to pain and hurt?

I wish... I wish he wasn't quite so ashamed of me. And if he could stop feeling so ashamed of himself, then maybe we might stand a chance.

Jude's fourth law: Caring equals vulnerability. Never show either.

It was because I was scared. Scared of standing out, scared of being invisible. Scared of seeming too big, scared of being too small. Scared of being with Sephy, scared of being away from her.

Sephy told me once that I was the only one who could make her cry. I've never told this to her, or to anyone else for the matter, but it works the other way round as well." — callum mcgregor/noughts&crosses

Boys don't cry but real men do.

Life was too precious to be so fragile

He ran his hand into her long, brown hair and then caressed her cheek. She was so beautiful and so broken. He understood broken. He related to it like no other could. He'd spent his life in a constant state of falling to pieces, held together by sheer willpower and luck. Deep down he knew they were right for one another. That two brokens could make a whole.

A top World War II ace once said that fighter pilots fall into two broad categories: those who go out to kill and those who, secretly, desperately, know they are going to get killed-the hunters and the hunted.

Nicht nur die Schwachen brauchen die Starken, sondern die Starken können auch nicht ohne die Schwachen sein. Die Ausschaltung der Schwachen ist der Tod der Gemeinschaft.

There's nothing comfortable about love.

La sang li circula veloç, la carn se li esponja, humida, i és arreu que se sent fràgil perquè és tota ella que l'estima.

indifference is fragile armour. — Manuel Ulacia (1953-2001), from "The Stone at the Bottom." Poetry in Translation (archived) Translated by Sarah Lawson.

Entonces él se inclina sobre mí y rodamos enlazados al hueco del lecho. Su cuerpo me cubre como una grande ola hirviente, me acaricia, me quema, me penetra, me envuelve, me arrastra desfallecida. A mi garganta sube algo así como un sollozo, y no sé por qué empiezo a quejarme, y no sé por qué me es dulce quejarme, y dulce a mi cuerpo el cansancio infligido por la preciosa carga que pesa entre mis muslos...