Quotes About Vulnerability

Shout when you're ready for some devastating criticism," said John Adair.

Ask them about their sex lives or their drinking habits or the times they beat up on Granny and they may dodge around a little but eventually they'll tell you all about it - they're dying to tell. Get to the money question, though, and they start acting like you just tore off all their clothes in public. In some way, money is the cover we use for the most intimate parts of ourselves.

Your eyes told me to trust you, your heart's beat told me you were afraid of getting broken too, the only thing you didn't tell me was how to let go once you were gone...

I want things to be like they were before...but even better. I want you to not leave this time...please don't break my heart.

When I first met him I didn't want to look into his eyes because I knew I would be able to tell how he thought about me and that scared me

How can I look so real everyday, when really I'm just a cardboard cut-out image of myself-lamenated in coats of artifical happiness with shiny plastic all around- so quite I should be a mime- I wrap my arms around myself when I go out in the wind because I don't know how to make sure that I won't blow away- and I'm standing with my eyes closed so I won't have to see the ground when I fall...

She put her hand to cover up her mouth, like somehow by shielding this part of her body she could protect the rest of it from the terrible pain about to come...

I see the new couple holding hands, smiling so carelessly at each other. I want to scream "Stop!" to them. I want to warn them what happens when you fall in love. You get hurt. It will take a while, A few months, or if you're really lucky a year. But love, it falters. It fails just like everything else, it inevitably breaks.

I knew I love him then. It was the first time I cried out of hurt and the thought that he might never fully understand me.

Why would he want to put a stain on a white sheet? Why would he want to taint a love that has never been crushed? Why would he want to see her intoxicated then leave her in the morning to fend for herself? Why would he want to ruin innocence?

It was a strange thing, this feeling of empathy. He'd never experienced it before. He realized that what hurt this woman hurt him as well, that what made her bleed caused a hemorrhage of pain within his soul.

He grunted and stirred, withdrawing from her. She only had a moment to be disappointed and then he flipped her to her back and rose over her, powerful and male. He casually parted her legs with his knees and thrust into her again, hot and hard. She gasped at the swift invasion, the lovely feeling, and then his face was next to hers, his big palms cradling her cheeks. "What I want," he drawled, "is ye. Nothin' else.

It seemed awful that the only things she knew about him were those that made him miserable.

Aus Liebe verschweigt man anderen bestimmte Dinge. Aber eigentlich finde ich, dass man Menschen, je mehr man sie liebt, desto mehr sagen sollte - sogar die schwierigen Sachen. Ich glaube, es ist der beste Liebesbeweis, ihnen alles zu erzählen.

It is extraordinarily difficult not to hate someone when one feels powerless with them.

The re-dipping of the dishes was a small matter, but the emotional texture of married life is made up of small matters. This one had become invested with a fatal quality.

Insects move and men like insects. WhyAre we set here, frightened of our reflections,Living in fear yet desperate not to die?

Strong is on the inside, a root that keeps you standing whatever might hit you. But hard is only on the outside, this shield you put up to keep all the pain on the inside from showing. The soft inside is still there even when you don't let yourself see it. And the shell keeps you safe, but it also keeps the good things from penetrating; love and trust and joy.

He said, 'Don't mind what happened to me. Don't be angry. I'm a frail creature with certain crude reflexes.

He had gone to bed early, made love, then got up and washed – it wouldn't do to meet an angel while glazed in places with love's juices, like an egg-white coated Michaelmas bun.

The bird that is shot is a parent," he observed in an address to the British Association for the Advancement of Science. "We take advantage of its most sacred instincts to waylay it, and in depriving the parent of life, we doom the helpless offspring to the most miserable of deaths, that by hunger. If this is not cruelty, what is?

Occasionally, a truck rumbled by, loaded down with logs. The butterflies couldn't scatter fast enough, so the road was littered with severed wings.

It touched me to be trusted with something terrible.

We stood in silence, and then the long-haired man repeated, "You are in pain. Do you know why?" "No, why?" I asked, even though I certainly did know why. "Because you are afraid." "Afraid of what?" "Afraid of yourself," the man said, placing his hand on his chest and patting his heart. "You are afraid to feel your real feelings. You are afraid to want what you really want. What do you want?