Quotes About Vulnerability

Because if it's really true that there's no order, then anything can happen to us. Anything at all. There's no real natural law, no right and wrong that's immutable, and the world is suddenly a savage place where any number of things can go wrong.

But he could not go up to the room as yet, and seating himself on a stone step, his head on his arms, he wept silently. Years had passed since he had shed tears, or so it seemed. Surely years since he had let them flow so copiously. And what stopped him finally was that he could hear his own crying.

Strength? What strength! This is a weak, flopping, sloshy, repulsive collection of nerves and ganglia. Don't even mention the word 'strength.

It is a terrible thing to realize that you depend so much upon another; that your entire sense of well-being is connected to that one—that you need him, love him, that he is the chief witness of your life.

the shutting of the coffin is always disturbing. It is rather like going under a modern anesthetic on an operating table. Even a casual mistake on the part of an intruder might mean death.

The truth is most women are weak, be they mortal or immortal. But when they are strong, they are absolutely unpredictable.

I can see that you don't know your own strength in this body any more than you did in the other." "Strength? What strength! This is a weak, flopping, sloshy, repulsive collection of nerves and ganglia. Don't even mention the word 'strength.' 

A singer can shatter a glass with the proper high note," he said, "but the simplest way for anyone to break a glass is simply to drop it on the floor.

Forget you need anyone to love you for what you are. That's impossible. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what you will do now. The pattern's all too familiar.

Making him to be my mate, I made a mirror who saw me all the more clearly as a monster.

I bent down, close to him, and kissed the side of his throat. My friend, my deepest friend in the world once. And now we'll have this union. Lust old and new. The boy I'd been loving him. I felt the blood pulsing through the artery. My left arm slid beneath his right arm. Don't hurt him. He couldn't get away from me. He didn't even try.

In a fog, I stared at the wounded bouquet of flowers. Pink-throated lilies. I wanted to pick them up. The tiny wounds all over me stung me and hurt me. I hated him that he had made the vase fall over, that the lilies were spilt now on the floor.

Rompió a llorar, cosa que yo nunca le había visto hacer. Y yo gocé de aquel instante pese a todo el dolor que contenía. Me dio vergüenza sentir aquello, pero no la solté. La mantuve abrazada con fuerza y tal vez la besé por todas las veces que no me había permitido hacerlo. Por un instante, parecíamos dos partes de una misma cosa.

Slowly, I brushed his hair more tenderly, and I saw to my own mute shock one of my tears fall right onto his face. It was red yet watery and transparent and it appeared to vanish as it moved down the curve of his cheekbone and into the natural hollow below.

To be weak is a dangerous thing.

I wanted to touch him once more with my cold fingers, but I did not dare.

He found me here," I said, "And I don't even know where I am. He found me here, and he can find me anywhere, and each time, as I told you, he takes a little more blood.

You understood my soul, I thought, and now others are coming to sack its riches.

His expression was concerned and protective, and I felt such an overwhelming need of him and love for him that I was about to cry. I held it back.

Você sabe qual é minha opinião sobre o choro? Acho que algumas pessoas precisam aprender a chorar. No entanto, uma vez que se tenha aprendido, uma vez que se saiba chorar de verdade, não há nada que chegue a seus pés. Sinto pena de quem não conhece o segredo. É como assobiar ou cantar.

I was weak from the heat of my own miserable thoughts.

It was as if that distant bed were a stage and on the linen pillows of the little stage lay that boy, his black hair parted in the middle and curling about his ears, so that he looked now in his dream, fevered state like one of those lithe androgynous creatures of a Botticelli painting; and beside him, nestled against him, her tiny white hand stark against his flesh lay Claudia, her face buried in his neck.

You do not want secrets which can be ripped from your heart.

I thought of Merrick. I couldn't know what the coming day would be like for her. I feared for her. I feared for her. I despised myself. And I wanted Merrick terribly. I wanted Louis. I wanted them as my companions, and it was utterly selfish, and yet it seemed a creature could not live without simple companionship which I held in mind.