Quotes About Fear

Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your soul mate, and having him not like you?

What can I say about a man who knows how I think and still sleeps next to me with the lights off?

Ever been in a spelling bee as a kid? That snowy second after the announcement of the word as you sift your brain to see if you can spell it? It was like that, the blank panic.

But I know I'll never sleep again. I can't close my eyes when I'm next to her. It's like sleeping with a spider.

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.

Everywhere felt like a jail now- doors opening and closing, and me never feeling safe.

Don't be a scared, dickless boy all your life, letting people push you around, letting people bring up the fear in you.

Camille, 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?

Libby must have marinated in anxious stomach acid for nine months, soaking up all that worry.

He promised to take care of me, and yet I feel afraid. I feel like something is going wrong, very wrong, and that it will get even worse.

Era la encarnación del peor temor de cualquier escritor: un cliché

Camille, non hai mai la sensazione che stia per accadere qualcosa di orribile e che tu non possa fare niente per evitarlo? La sensazione di poter solo aspettare?

How do you keep safe when your whole day is as wide and empty as the sky? Anything could happen.

To me, all that urgent hopefulness was more frightening than if I'd found a pile of skulls with hair still attached. I ran out in full panic, my underwear tucked up a sleeve.

She was a worst-case scenarist on a grand scale. Because it was never just that the door was unlocked, it was that the door was unlocked, and men were inside, and they were waiting to rape and kill her.

I think she's sick, and I think what she has is contagious

I started on the opening page of my own book. 'I am a cheating, weak-spined, women-fearing coward, and i am the hero of your story. Because the woman I cheated on - my wife, Amy Elliott Dunne - is a sociopath and a murderer.' Yes. I'd read that.

He promised to take care of me, and yet I feel afraid. I feel like something is going wrong, very wrong, and that it will get even worse. I don't feel like Nick's wife. I don't feel like a person at all: I am something to be loaded and unloaded, like a sofa or a cuckoo clock. I am something to be tossed into a junkyard, thrown into the river, if necessary. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear.

I stand in the middle of my room and debate not answering. 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 .

We are one long frightening climax.

Because that means the day has ended. 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.

So how likely is it I'll meet someone I love, much less someone I love enough to marry? I'm tired of not knowing who I'll be with, or if I'll be with anyone.

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. My

stomach didn't hurt the way it did with my wife—the constant dread of returning to my own home, where I wasn't welcome.