Quotes About Vulnerability

I might, by chance, write something just as shoddy; But then I wouldn't show it to everybody.

Certainty fell away from me as though a loved person dropped my hand in indifference.

We were editors of our own selves, revealing only what we wanted to show. Being only what served us best. Trust was an enormous act of faith. And faith… God , faith was hard.

Love is a knife that really only cuts one way, and that's deep.

You're wild now, too. And brave. What else do you want to be?" "I want to be with you." The words slipped out before I could stop them and I heard him suck in a sharp breath. The brittle silence told me I'd done something I couldn't ever undo. I'd changed everything.

Listen to me," he said. "I will never hurt you or touch you. I won't put my hands on you unless you ask me. Beg me." I gasped and fell back against the door, strength leaving my legs. "And I want you to beg me," he said, still closer. "And I think someday you will.

Ronan would keep my body safe and incinerate my heart. Trusting him would be my worst mistake.

Sometimes you just had to feel it. Sometimes you had to let the terror and the anger and the fear tear you apart. So you could feel what came next.

His hand touched my leg and I grabbed it. I held it with both of mine, like he was a lifeline and I needed saving. Or maybe I was the lifeline and he needed saving. Was it possible we could save each other?

How loving Ronan felt like an act of recklessness and at the same time the safest thing I'd ever done. Maybe, I realized, that's what love was. It was being terrified of the leap but being sure of being caught.

Save your act for other people. The lies and the show – I don't want it. I want you. Fucked up and crazy. I want you.

Show me something you never show anyone. Give me a piece of your soul, because I just showed you mine and because I need to fucking live on something and I have nothing. Give me something I can live on. For a minute. That's all I want.

It was him and it was me and it was nothing else.

The ways she was different from any other woman in my life could not be counted. I didn't want to say she was sweet, because that seemed to negate all the ways she was fierce. I didn't want to say she was generous, because it would deny the ways she was selfish. I'd never had a woman in my life show me so much of herself.

I wanted to show you the truth of me. And…loving you is a part of that. It's a part of who I am now.

I'm scared that the way I want you will tie me to you when I know that's not what either of us wants. Or needs. But I'm must so…" I trailed off because there were so many words that could fill in that blank. Lonely. Needy. Broken.

I've never…" she whispered as I kissed her neck. Her hear. The skin under her chin. She really was soft all over. "This isn't like me." I leaned back. Looked deep into her startled and wary blue eyes. "You looking for permission to fuck the way you like?" I asked. "It's yours.

I'm not talking about whether or not you'll send me a card next February." She shook her head. "I can't be with a withholder. I won't live with little denials." The way she said that, it sounded like he'd proposed.

In the middle of a wrist's suicide slash-line, below the layered skin and above the pulse, there's an acupuncture point that says, Get back to who you were meant to be. This is the heart spot, the center. Your whole life the skin on that place will stay closest to being a baby's skin, as close as you can get anymore to the way you started, the way you once thought you'd always be.

What I feel in that kitchen is the way humans are so flawed and so perfect, and I want to share bodies. You know your old dog? That's how I feel—I want to climb on people, breathe their breath, lick the inside of stranger's mouths. I don't know these two, but who do we ever know, really, past the skin? How do we get there?

The world wasn't safe today. The truth was, this world was never safe. (19)

She was right about one thing - I did need a caring, responsible adult around. If I could have cried on the shoulder of someone I trusted, I never would have stopped. Where were all the adults?

Hope is a perilous thing, Quinn.

People who live in glass houses might as well answer the door.