Quotes About Vulnerability

Those most moved to tears by every word of a preacher are generally weak and a rascal when the feelings evaporate.

Nor was caution a sufficient protection to those who kept aloof; for darts, discharged from engines or by the hand, inflicted wounds on most of them; and thus the brave and the timid, though of unequal merit, were exposed to equal danger.

Her uncanny empathy grew out of her tenuous sense of herself. She could shed her own troubles, compensating for her own emptiness, by losing herself in others' traumas—in effect, she could "be" another person, if only momentarily—even as she delivered the sort of compassion she desperately wanted for herself.

We are not easy to help. Nor are we easy to be around. Nobody with a serious illness is easy to be around. Although not obviously physically disabled, we struggle to get things done. Our energy levels are dangerously low. Sometimes, we find it hard to talk. We get angry and frustrated. We fall into despair. We cry, for no apparent reason. Sometimes we find it difficult to eat, or to sleep. Often, we have to go to bed in the afternoon or all day.

I use humour to hide behind, because I cannot bear to feel my feelings, cannot face the truth.

Sometimes, we find it hard to talk. We get angry and frustrated. We fall into despair. We cry, for no apparent reason. Sometimes we find it difficult to eat, or to sleep. Often, we have to go to bed in the afternoon or all day.

It is humbling to be the parent of a child who brings our all of your weaknesses repetitively. But living in guilt for not being perfect will never serve our need to grow stronger.

Last year I was diagnosed with osteoporosis. I was over 50, Caucasian, thin, small-framed, and I have it in my genetic history. It was almost a slam-dunk.

I think that's very sad, that I haven't allowed my heart to be broken. I have broken a few.

All she had to protect herself against him was silence, the one skill in which she had become an expert.

I had never been interested in boys and had no notion that I ever would, seeing being in love and loving as a great tangle in which you could lose your head as well as your heart. Yet standing there that afternoon looking at the young man. I could well see how such knots in life were made.

When you stop trying to be all things to all people, you can stop worrying about being liked and start building relationships that allow you to be loved. If you are not creating a negative response from somebody, you're probably not very fascinating to anybody.

I had no idea that he was going to write that, but I've always believed that insecurity was what would keep you always in your innocence, no matter what the business did.

I noticed in the past, a lot of guys who like strong women, they really freak out if you're not strong 24/7. Or they complain about you being strong, then the moment you're not strong, they're like, 'Oh, no, no, no.'

Finding someone's weakness only can make you strongest in the earth but not inside you. And someday you can be in the worst situation when someone found your biggest weakness. That day you will be left with regression. Nothing can change back!

We live in a time of era where there is no value for innocence. People don't worth the innocence. And innocent people remain the sufferer and vulnerable to the world.

Children are the vessels into which adults pour their poison.

You cannot kill or steal from a man while he is asleep and heartbroken. While it is said that everything is fair in love an war, the dictum is nullified when both love and war occur simultaneously...

Each day befriend a single fear, and the miscellaneous terrors of being human will never join together to form such a morass of vague anxiety that it rules your life from the shadows of the unconscious. We learn to fly not by being fearless, but by the daily practice of courage.

The question that surrounds lovemaking is, "Did you cum?" and the unasked question beneath that is, "Am I all right?

Rata que debería estar muerta y no está muerta. Débil y sucia, pero no muerta, nada muerta, ahí estaba yo, vivo, debajo de un arbusto; y tenía un plan.

While he may not often curse, Ray Bradbury does cry. Often. Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow. He cries when watching the news; he cries when people say kind things to him; he cries when recalling fond memories. Sometimes he cries several times a day.

Unlock the door?' he asks. This family is an experiment, the biggest I've ever been part of, an experiment called: How do you let someone in? 'Unlock the door,' he says again. 'Please.' I release the lock. I open the door. That's the best definition of love.

Two people who live their lives alone in rooms doing strange, gentle things can sometimes be together in the middle of a dangerous storm in a house made of glass.