Quotes About Fear

I think it's fascinating that there's a whole holiday dedicated to things that we fear and that's so interesting about the nature of humanity.

Of all living things, only humans consciously anticipate death; the consequent need to choose how to behave in its face - to worry about how to die - distinguishes us from other animals. The need to manage death is the particular lot of humanity.

Most of what you see now emphasizes animals being dangerous to humans.

I have learned to take the part of me that is very fearful and work on that. There is space for that in my life. I have learned to give myself a bit more freedom between 'action' and 'cut.' I come by all that fear honestly, like most humans have. I can't bring it with me to work, so in that way, the work feels quite liberating.

Fortunately for me, I had a father who didn't let us get away with anything. You were taught respect, and you were taught to be humble. That has a lot to do with how I am now, because I'm still scared of my dad.

There's something about being afraid, about being small, about enforced humility that draws me to climbing.

Even though the risks of death are higher driving than flying, many people would rather drive simply because they feel they have more control driving. The facts are that only a few hundred people die a year flying, and 44,000 are killed a year driving.

You entertain people who are satisfied. Hungry people can't be entertained - or people who are afraid. You can't entertain a man who has no food.

The administration of a great organized molar security has as its correlate a whole micro-management of petty fears, a permanent molecular insecurity, to the point that the motto of domestic policymakers might be: a macropolitics of society by and for the micropolitics of insecurity

Il est bien vrai que la violence est ce qui ne parle pas, ce qui parle peu, et la sexualité, ce dont on parle peu, en principe. La pudeur n'est pas liée à un effroi biologique. Si elle l'était, elle ne se formulerait pas comme elle le fait : je redoute moins d'être touchée que vue, et vue que parlée.

There is no need to ask which is the toughest or most tolerable regime, for it's within each of them that liberating and enslaving forces confront each other. (…) There is no need for fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.

Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your soul mate, and having him not like you? So that's how the hating first began. I've thought about this a lot, and that's where it started, I think.

Sometimes I think I won't ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand.

I am a great husband because I am very afraid she may kill me.

Bang bang bang. I understand now why so many horror movies use that device-the mysterious knock on the door-because it has the weight of a nightmare. You don't know what's out there, yet you know you'll open it. You'll think what I think: No one bad ever knocks.

I'm here, I said, and it felt shockingly comforting, those words. When I'm panicked, I say them aloud to myself. I'm here. I don't usually feel that I am. I feel like a warm gust of wind could exhale my way and I'd be disappeared forever, not even a sliver of fingernail left behind. On some days, I find this thought calming; on others it chills me.

Sometimes I think I won't ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand. Three more days to get through until I don't have to worry about life anymore.

I was the embodiment of every writer's worst fear: a cliché.

Do you ever feel like bad things are going to happen, and you can't stop them? You can't do anything, you just have to wait?

If she's sad or upset or angry, she needs to be alone-she fears a man dismissing her womanly tears.

I like checking days off a calendar—151 days crossed and nothing truly horrible has happened. 152 and the world isn't ruined. 153 and I haven't destroyed anyone. 154 and no one really hates me. Sometimes I think I won't ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand. Three more days to get through until I don't have to worry about life anymore.

I'm not good at things like that: haircuts or oil changes or dentist visits. When I moved into my bungalow, I spent the first three months swaddled in blankets because I couldn't deal with getting the gas turned on. It's been turned off three times in the past few years, because sometimes I can't quite bring myself to write a check. I have trouble maintaining.

I was not that man: I didn't hate and fear all women. I was a one-woman misogynist. If I despised only Amy, focused all my fury and rage and venom on the one woman who deserved it, that didn't make me my father. That made me sane.

To me, all that urgent hopefulness was more frightening than if I'd found a pile of skulls with hair still attached.