Quotes About Vulnerability

Qué quiere decir la mayoría de la gente cuando dice eso? ¡Tan joven! Algo inocente, algo suplicante, algo indefenso. Pero la juventud no es eso. La juventud es cruda, la juventud es fuerte, la juventud es poderosa... Sí, ¡y cruel! Y alguna cosa más: la juventud es vulnerable».

Such people go through life in great danger.

Such a one is encased, is he not, in an armour—such an armour! The armour of the crusaders was nothing to it—an armour of arrogance, of pride, of complete self-esteem. This armour, it is in some ways a protection, the arrows, the everyday arrows of life glance off it. But there is this danger; Sometimes a man in armour might not even know he was being attacked. He will be slow to see, slow to hear—slower still to feel.

Women were the devil when they got their knife into you.

[T]hen I did the simplest thing in the world. I leaned down... and kissed him. And the world cracked open.

There are few nudities so objectionable as the naked truth.

Skammen kilar sig in där den finner fäste.

Aldrig mer kärlek. Enda utvägen: göra sig ogenomsläpplig. Man kan inte bara låta sig försvinna i ett slukhål. Man måste upprätta en demarkationslinje mot detta som är en sjukdom som får en att mista all kontroll.

Wenn man keine Sprache hat, ist alles Durcheinander, und man hat Angst vor Dingen, von denen man sich nicht zu fürchten braucht. In dieser Zeit stotterten die meisten der Kinder um mich herum, sprachen laut oder verschluckten die Wörter. Wenn man keine Sprache hat, offenbart sich der nackte Charakter. Die Vielredner unter uns wurden noch lauter, und die in sich gekehrten verschluckten ihre Stimme. Ohne Muttersprache ist der Mensch verstümmelt.

He stands his ground but she can see him collapse. He looks like a man in a film the moment after he's been shot and before he falls to the ground -

Ci siamo spogliati nel palazzo degli specchi. Abbiamo ispezionato con tenerezza le ferite l'uno dell'altro. La mia faccia gonfia e il labbro rotto. Le abrasioni di Barry sui fianchi e sulle cosce e le escoriazioni sulle mani e le ginocchia, dovute allo sfregamento sul marciapiede. Nient'altro. E nessun'altra scusa per toccare, seguire e accarezzare i contorni dei nostri corpi per la prima volta.

It's like a sleepover, when you feel you can say all kinds of things, because the darkness hides your blushes.

Once undressed I felt less exposed. (...) Naked was my uniform. (...) There was no pressure to conform.

Many kids, it seemed, would find out that their parents were flawed, messed-up people later in life, and I didn't appreciate getting to know it all so strong and early.

I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.

Promises are more dangerous then secrets.

The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. He might get burned, but he's in the game. And once he's in, he can't go back, he'll Beat his wings 'til he burns them black... No, The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. . . The Moth don't care if The Flame is real, 'Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal. And nothing fuels a good flirtation, Like Need and Anger and Desperation... No, The Moth don't care if The Flame is real. . .

But she's too afraid. Afraid that if she begins, she'll start to cry and never stop, that she'll be swallowed by her sadness, her fear, how overwhelmed she is, how certain she is that everything she has is slipping away.

I'd rather share sunrise with him and loon call over the lake with him, the slap of shoreline threaded through screen windows with him—my heart slamming in my chest, against my shirt—a kind of kindling you'd never be able to light on your own.

I have always been a softie, and I fight it with every fiber of my being. Sadly, my being's fibers need to hit the gym.

When one is undone—sprawled across the cold tile of a public bathroom in a pool of one's own vomit, or shivering in the back of a taxi in a pair of urine-soaked skinny jeans with no money for cab fare and a dead cell phone battery—much like a wobbly toddler or an unhinged politician, one immediately looks for someone else to blame. God. Your parents. Ex-girlfriends. Undocumented immigrants. Marvin in Human Resources. China.

FORGIVENESS MIGHT WORK in a monastery, I hear you say, but if we give that sort of forgiveness in real life, we'll be taken advantage of. People will walk all over us — they'll just think we're weak. I agree. Such forgiveness rarely works on its own. As the saying goes, "He who turns the other cheek, must visit the dentist twice, rather than once!

As the ostrich when pursued hideth his head, but forgetteth his body; so the fears of a coward expose him to danger.

The barb in the arrow of childhood suffering is this its intense loneliness, its intense ignorance.