Quotes About Vulnerability

So I don't try to kill off my fear. I don't go to war against it. Instead, I make all that space for it. Heaps of space. Every single day. I'm making space for fear right this moment. I allow my fear to live and breathe and stretch out its legs comfortably. It seems to me that the less I fight my fear, the less it fights back. If I can relax, fear relaxes, too.

When I don't know what I'm doing, I look like I don't know what I'm doing. When I'm excited or nervous, I look excited or nervous. And when I am lost, which is frequently, I look lost. My face is a transparent transmitter of my every thought.

I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of *reaching* his highest potential. … Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism.

Everything is so goddamn scary.

ago that if I want creativity in my life—and I do—then I will have to make space for fear, too.

No te disculpes por llorar. Sin sentimientos, no somos más que robots

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake.

Men and women who have lived together over long years get to know one another's failings; but they also come to know what is worthy of respect and admiration in those they live with and in themselves.

Anything can get tedious after enough time, Angela—even watching heartbreaking acts of naked vulnerability.

Oh, Jesus. How do you get out of this one? You don't. You can't get out of this one. Unless you're able to be honest, which of course I could not do.

I've realized that one of the most unkind things I can do to somebody is to put them on a pedestal because very soon, inevitably, they're going to do something that's going to knock them off it, and then I'm going to have a lot of trouble with that because I really needed you to be something else. And that's inhumane." –Elizabeth Gilbert

to be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow- this is human offering that can be border on miraculous

Everything is so goddamn scary. Defending

there came a point in my life when I stopped doing this—when I stopped responding to life's challenges with floods of tears. Because really, there is no dignity in it. These days, I am the sort of tough-skinned old battle-ax who would rather stand dry-eyed and undefended in the most hostile underbrush of truth than degrade herself and everyone else by collapsing into a swamp of manipulative tears.

We all of us need to be toppled off the throne of self, my dear, he said. Perched up there the tears of others are never upon our own cheek.

To see your mother as a baby, that is what it's like, and therefore heartbreaking and wretched, and therefore also cleansing in some crooked way, the self wiped clean of static, pared down to its essentials, the human core that bore you, which was borne.

Je n'ai jamais cessé, tout au long de ma vie, de rechercher l'aide d'un homme. Je l'ai trouvée souvent et, plus souvent encore, elle m'a fait défaut.

Women were something best bought, he'd found. Pay them, f*ck them, and send them away in the morning. That way avoided tears, recriminations, and feminine disappointment. Oh, and small things like being slapped across the face. Mick rubbed his jaw. But Silence wasn't one of his whores, as Harry had pointed out. Mick couldn't send her away. And he couldn't let her starve herself—he wouldn't let anyone hurt her, including herself.

At her gesture Michael cursed and caught her hand, falling suddenly atop her. She stared up at him wondering what bedchamber faux pas she'd committed. He groaned at her look. "I'll let ye pet and play all ye want—after. Now I need"—he pushed her chemise to her waist, parted her thighs, and settled between them—"to be inside ye.

She threw one leg over his and straddled his lap, then reached under herself and found him again. He tore his mouth from hers. "Wait." "No." She looked him frankly in the eyes. "I don't care if you spill at once. I need you inside me now." His beautiful eyes widened and then narrowed. "You'll not always hold the reins, my lady." She smiled sweetly. "Naturally not, but I do now.

You are different. She lifted a hand to delicately trace his hairline. He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers tremble against his skin. For whatever reason, she said softly, when you are with me, you are simply Isaac and I am Coral.

It hardly mattered. She was tired of waiting for him to acknowledge who he was. Tired of donning a false mask of gaiety when she was so much more—felt so much more—beneath. No one had ever noticed her mask. No one but him. If he couldn't or wouldn't make the first move, then damn it, she would.

She took his length gently between her hands, her arms resting on his thighs, and looked up into his face. "I'm very, very angry with you." And she opened her mouth over him.

There was no sound, but she felt a movement, a shifting of the air in her room, the warmth of another presence. Isabel opened her eyes. He was there, at the foot of her bed, a single candle in his hand, dressed only in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches. "Forgive me," he whispered as he set the candle down. "I could not stay away.