Quotes About Vulnerability

I feel very silly saying to you, Tell me all about yourself, but I wish you would. I want to get to know you. That's not how you get to know people. Don't you know? You can't talk it out, you've got to live into their lives, bad and good. You'll know me soon enough. What I want you to know.

Es bonito que alguien te adore. Aunque en ocasiones es incómodo.

Boy, girl, you just better not try me." He made her swear on the Bible never to tell and never to follow, but still he lay awake a long time. How could he trust everything that mattered to him to a sassy six-year-old? Sometimes it seemed to him that his life was delicate as a dandelion. One little puff from any direction, and it was blown to bits.

Isn't love worth taking a risk?

Among the men, only Whit kept his face clean-shaven; how he did it in the absence of privacy and clean water, I'll never know. I also knew that our major kept up a strong front during the day, his cheer unflagging, but wept uncontrollably while asleep in his funkhole.

I am like glass to him, like water, Hannah thought to herself, alone now in the music room, heart racing. He sees through me, but how? Page: 97

I am like glass to him, like water . .

Her chest was a frail cage for the beating of her heart.

old people have to go to children's or most often to rest homes where they are shunted into wheelchairs and made as fast as possible into zombies cause it's easier to handle a zombie, if you have to handle anything, than a human.

She hadn't withdrawn, not exactly. But putting her heart, herself out there, she risked being hurt—again. She risked that feeling of somehow never doing it right, of never being able to measure up, of somehow lacking some essence that others seemed to carry confidently on their shoulders. The dress might prove to Joanne and herself that of course she could. She'd start small, though. She'd experiment a little, take a few more risks like the satiny red dress.

I wanted someone above me in the chain of life. I didn't want to be alone, a single blue egg in a crumbling nest.

The world was cruel and sudden. This he knew for sure. Relax for a moment, breathe in the scent of a rose, rest in the shade, pet a dog, take a sip of lemonade, fall in love with a dreamy-eyed girl or a haunted faced man, and you are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Buzzing around the lemonade, you'll find flies. Follow the flies and you'll find death.

The soul is nothing but the innards of the finest watch, ruined before the watchmaker's hands even touch it, by its exposure to air.

The world was cruel and sudden. This he knew for sure. Relax for a moment, breathe in the scent of a rose, rest in the shade, pet a dog, take a sip of lemonade, fall in love with a dreamy-eyed girl or a haunted-faced man, and you are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Buzzing around the lemonade, you'll find flies. Follow the flies and you'll find death.

And I know that when you get hurt, your first instinct is to run. But I also realized something else. No one has ever followed you when you did run. But I'm going to follow, and I'm going to keep following until you realize that you can trust me. I'm not going to let you run away from something that could be so great. That is so great. Marty, I love you. - Nate

We often describe women who write about pain or vulnerabilities as 'brave,' but this type of confession is so frequently exchanged, so par for the course, so deeply and comfortably ensconced in the language of female confidences, so nearly de rigueur in the kind of personal writing ascendant now, so deeply woven in the way women get along with each other in the world generally that bravery may not be quite the right word. It is, in a way, something more like capitulating.

In the light of day, it's hard to understand why I am derailed by a tiny thing like getting out of a taxi on a Sunday night. Of course, right behind the fear that I can't manage on my own is another more terrifying fear: that I can.

It is not for me to Judge the gifts I have to offer the world, but it is up to me to summon the courage to offer them.

We have to just let go, expose ourselves, let someone else see who and what we really are. At least one other person.

We all build internal sea walls to keep at bay the sadnesses of life and the often overwhelming forces within our minds... But love is, to me, the ultimately more extraordinary part of the breakwater wall: it helps to shut out the terror and awfulness, while, at the same time, allowing in life and beauty and vitality.

Grief, however, creates a strange sensitivity. The world is too intense to tolerate: a veil, a drink, another anesthetic is required to blot out the ache of what remains. One sees too much and feels it, as Robert Lowell puts it, with one skin-layer missing.

my curiosity and temperament had taken me to places I was not really able to handle emotionally

There is no easy way to tell other people that you have manic-depressive illness; if there is, I haven't found it.

I have seen the breadth and depth and width of my mind and heart and seen how frail they both are, and how ultimately unknowable they both are.