Quotes About Vulnerability

deixava que me tocasse, não lhe tocava, custa-me tocar nas pessoas, herdei isto de si, pai, não é que não me apeteça, há alturas em que me apetece mas se tocasse dissolvia-me nelas e não tornava a ser eu

Like a Columbus of the heart, mind and soul I have hurled myself off the shores of my own fears and limiting beliefs to venture far out into the uncharted territories of my inner truth, in search of what it means to be genuine and at peace with who I really am. I have abandoned the masquerade of living up to the expectations of others and explored the new horizons of what it means to be truly and completely me, in all my amazing imperfection and most splendid insecurity.

Never shy away from opportunity and wholehearted living. Never be fearful of putting yourself out there. The courageous may encounter many disappointments, experience profound disillusionment, gather many wounds; but cherish your scars for they are the proud emblems of a truly phenomenal life. The fearful, cautious, cynical and self-repressed do not live at all. And that is simply no way to be in this world.

The church stands that it may be battered, but the fists that batter know their own impotence.

It is countries with no dissent, which live in the quiet of the grave, that are vulnerable and fragile.

A tu gde je strah nema ljubavi, jer uvek mrzimo ono ?ega se plašimo.

If you aren't consciously aware, you're vulnerable to either being brainwashed or being influenced by forces within you that you have no awareness of at all.

An attachment, by its very nature, makes you vulnerable to emotional turmoil and is always threatening to shatter your peace.

Lou Reed: I am so susceptible to beauty.

But books, like people, die. They die in fires or floods or in the mouths of worms or at the whims of tyrants. If they are not safeguarded, they go out of the world. And when a book goes out of the world, the memory dies a second death.

This, she realizes, is the basis of all fear. That a light you are powerless to stop will turn on you and usher a bullet to its mark.

He was a just a boy. They all were. Even the largest of them.

You can cling to this world for a thousand years and still be plucked out of it in a breath.

We are mice, he thinks, and the sky swirls with hawks.

quick-witted, an open book in her lap; inside her chest pulses something huge, something full of longing, something unafraid.

What is blindness? Where there should be a wall, her hands find nothing. Where there should be nothing, a table leg gouges her shin. Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.

But to raise one's hopes is to risk their falling further.

On Earth, when I was a boy, most everybody got sick. Rashes, funny little fevers. All the unmodified people got sick every now and then. It's part of being human.

It's like reaching into a sack full of cotton and finding a razor blade inside, everything constant and undeviating and then that one dangerous thing, so sharp you can hardly feel it open your skin.

Marie-Laure drops her cane; she begins to cry. Her father lifts her, holds her to his narrow chest. "it's so big," she whispers. "You can do this, Marie." She cannot.

I'm scared, Papa." "Keep hold of me.

to raise one's hopes is to risk their falling further.

weaker moments, he

and she is so afraid to try her French that she goes to bed hungry.