Quotes About Vulnerability

Dinamarca es un país llano con un buen sistema de carreteras, por lo que resulta imposible de defender contra cualquier ejército motorizado.

Ethel suspiró. ¿Por qué lo estaba postergando? —Me he quedado encinta —dijo. —Ay, no… ¡Serás desvergonzada! Ethel intentó contener las lágrimas. Había esperado recibir compasión, no condena.

Carla had never before realized how much she had been protected by politicians, newspapermen, and lawyers. Without them, she saw now, the government could do anything it liked, even kill people. Who

Es peligroso para un pobre intentar defender sus derechos.

Fathers were supposed to be invulnerable - but that attitude was childish, he now saw. Irritatingly, he might have to change his outlook. He could no longer be merely indignant and resentful. He was not the only sufferer. Dad had hurt him, but he had hurt Dad as well, and they were both responsible. Feeling responsible was not as comfortable as feeling outraged.

He felt a bit like the von Ulrich house looked, battered and bombed and shot at but still standing.

But the rest are even scared to open up and laugh. You know, that's the first thing that got me about this place, that there wasn't anybody laughing. I haven't heard a real laugh since I came through that door, do you know that? Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing.

What the Chronics are - or most of us - are machines with flaws inside that can't be repaired, flaws born in, or flaws beat in over so many years of the guy running head-on into solid things that by the time the hospital found him he was bleeding rust in some vacant lot.

More was revealed in a human face than a human being can bear face to face.

But if the strength ain't real, I recall thinking the very last thing that day, before I finally passed out, then the weakness sure enough is. Weakness is true and real. I used to accuse the kid of faking his weakness. But faking proves the weakness is real. Or you wouldn't be so weak as to fake it. No, you can't ever fake being weak. You can only fake being strong. . .

They think they know the book by its cover, but the book knows what it is. Now he knew better; if the book never opens up and comes out, it can be warped to fit the image others see. . . .No, a book wasn't invulnerable to the appearance of its cover, not by any means.

Billy here has been talkin' about slicin' his wrists again, so is there seven of you guys who'd like to join him and make it therapeutic?

Nobody complains about all the fog. I know why, now: as bad as it is, you can slip back in it and feel safe. That's what McMurphy can't understand, us wanting to be safe. He keeps trying to drag us out of the fog, out in the open where we'd be easy to get at.

But the new guy is different, and the Acutes can see it, different from anybody been coming on this ward for the past ten years, different from anybody they ever met outside. He's just as vulnerable, maybe, but the Combine didn't get him.

What the Chronics are—or most of us—are machines with flaws inside that can't be repaired, flaws born in, or flaws beat in over so many years of the guy running head-on into solid things that by the time the hospital found him he was bleeding rust in some vacant lot.

God looks out for fools and niggers.

Sometimes I looked at them and sometimes they looked at me, but rarely did we look at one another. It was too naked and painful. More was revealed in a human face than a human being can bear, face-to-face.

You got to understand that as soon as a man goes to help someone, he leaves himself wide open.

Meg kell neked is érteni, hogy amint valaki a másiknak a segítségére siet, maga fedezetlen marad.

We almost made it that time. A little courage on someone's part and we might have made it. We were swollen and ripe for an instant together, ready for picking, offering our store to each other's hesitant fingers . . . a little tender courage at that rare right instant, and things might well have turned out differently. . .

He keeps trying to drag us out of the fog, out in the open where we'd be easy to get at.

But in spite of her efforts to stop the words she can feel some of the need getting through: he doesn't need me that much, he couldn't—

Nadie se queja de la niebla. Ahora ya sé por qué: aunque resulte molesta, permite hundirse en ella y sentirse seguro. Es lo que McMurphy no comprende, que queramos estar seguros. Sigue intentando hacernos salir de la niebla, ponernos al descubierto, donde sería fácil atraparnos.

You got to understand that as soon as a man goes to help somebody, he leaves himself wide open.