Quotes About Vulnerability

No," I tell him, "I won't. I won't be okay just for the sake of it. Not anymore.

He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

Everything was so desperately noisy in the dark when he was alone. Each time he moved, there was the sound of a crease. He felt like a man in a paper suit.

Her papa stood and called her half a woman. Max was writing The Word Shaker in the corner. Rudy was naked by the door.

I don't want to stand in naked silence, pathetically unaware of how to be.

A good father loves his daughter with no strings attached. He is available. He is both strong and tender. Being big and strong doesn't mean being separate from one's feelings; to the contrary, it means being very much in touch with them. Women who experienced fathers like that know that a strong man can cry, and that a man who can cry can also be very strong.

I hate people like that, people you have to protect while they keep hurting you.

Pre?o sa ?udia chvascú, že sú citlivejÅ¡í ako zvieratá? Tým sú len bezbrannejÅ¡í; keby sme nemali iných potrieb, iba hlad a smäd a telesné túžby, boli by sme takmer slobodní; takto nás rozochveje každu?ký závan vetra, každý poh?ad, náhodné slovo.

You'll never be hurt as much by being open as you have been remaining closed.

It is a frightening thing to love someone you know the world rejects.

Just hold me, sit with me, put your arm around me. Listen as I struggle to tell you what it feels like, without thinking you have to tie it all up in some cohesive clinical bundle. I don't expect you to make this better. I know you can't.

He says that you shouldn't be so worried. He says you'll never be hurt as much by being open as you have been hurt by remaining closed.

The dignity of these humans is to weep.

Frightened people often hide behind anger.

Because we are all poets or babies in the middle of the night, struggling with being.

The children of the nuclear age, I think, were weakened in their capacity to love. Hard to love, when you're bracing yourself for impact. Hard to love, when the loved one, and the lover, might at any instant become blood and flames, along with everybody else.

Her body is probably naked by now but there is nothing as naked as human eyes: they haven't even got skin over them.

Are snoopers snooping on their own pain? Probably.

How astonishingly intimate the business of fiction is, more intimate than anything that issues from the psychiatrist's couch or even the lovers' bed. You see the soul, pinned and wriggling on the wall.

I think: you deserve to be what you are if you could bare to get that way. You must have seen it coming. And now there's nothing for you here. No one will protect you, and people won't see any reason not to do you harm.

I attended a breakfast meeting with Fielding...half way through...the cork of nausea abruptly popped in my throat. I only just made it to the adjacent can, which was large and acoustical; my imitation of an exploding hippopotamus came through the closed door in full quadraphonic. I got one or two funny glances on my return ..and if I were them, I'd enjoy the spectacle. It does my poor ticker good to see someone really totalled.

Well, we cry and twist and are naked at both ends of life. We cry at both ends of life, while the doctor watches.

A "successful" relationship is best defined not as one that sustains erotic intensity but rather one that helps to soften the brute fact that we're alone in this world—and will leave it.

Consequently, many of those who agreed to hide weapons were widows or young, unmarried mothers who desperately needed the money. Most