Quotes About Fear

Was he thinking serial killer? She was but did not want to voice that opinion yet. This was different and the same. Very much the same as Gail and Charlie, her mother's superiors, made inferior by Arleen's knife. Her mom's killing streak ran for twelve years, and would have continued indefinitely, if she had not taken Nadine's classmate. Right after Nadine had told her mom that Sandra was terrorizing her, the high school senior went missing.

Being thin created intense anxiety that I wouldn't be able to maintain that weight for life, and I couldn't.

As it turned out, my perception was so much more intimidating than the reality.

In the 70's, there was a profound fear of being gay, to be sure, but with the burgeoning understanding of sexism and misogyny, it became harder to understand why one would want to sleep with the enemy, either. For some, lesbian love was a pragmatic route to fairness. (The sex and foot massages were just a bonus.)

That woman needs protecting like Rambo needs a bodyguard.

Real friendship admits recognition of the ugly as well as the beautiful. I remember the moments that snatched me from the passive solitude of my normal life, warned me of the pleasure and the fear of living

Falling in love is like skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Sooner or later you come down and hit the ground.

isn't that what happens in us in our lives? Don't we all reach out in our nights and our days, full of some mysterious agenda, and hope another person can somehow read our minds and give us our heart's desire? I wonder why we are like this. What happens to us along the way that makes us so afraid to ask for what we really want? And what do we become when we lose that ability?

Whenever it feels uncomfortable to tell the truth, that's often the most important time to tell it.

If only I could understand The reason for my crying If only I could stop this fear Of dreaming that I'm dying.

P.S. I hope BOB doesn't come tonight.

Accept that you are bad and dirty and cheap and should be thrown to the wolves as scrap meat, and must never bear children, for who knows the faces they would be locked behind from birth until death.

I think that the times that I have to go into the woods at night have poisoned me. I

She'd never dreamed—make that nightmared—that Dr. Cinatas was a murderer.

In such a life, he thinks, there is a truth. You can be so cold that you can't get colder, so wet you can't become wetter. You can feel so deeply that you are saturated, numb but still intensely alert—beyond fear—as if living a memory. Beyond living, he thinks. Surviving.

Is it still there? I asked, staring at his head, bent over, as he wedged the stethoscope beneath my left breast. And then, before I could stop myself, Does it sound broken?

Maybe it was inertia -or worse, fear- that was keeping me in the same place.

I could have told him that nothing was safe and that no matter how careful you were and how hard you tried, there were still accidents, hidden traps, and snares. You could get killed on an airplane or crossing the street. Your marriage could fall apart when you weren't looking; your husband could lose his job; our baby could get sick or die.

grabbing for the last loaf of bread or gallon of milk or four-pack of toilet paper, as if everyone's snow-day plans included French toast and diarrhea.

People don't like to see things that aren't perfect. It reminds them of what could go wrong in their own lives, I guess.

Diana buried her face in her hands, because, as Michael undoubtedly suspected, the answer was all the time. It was her biggest fear—that her rapist hadn't stopped with her, that, to the contrary, she'd been the first, in a line, maybe a long one.

I wondered if, at the end, she had known that she was dying, if she'd been in pain or if she'd been afraid, and I thought about how, in spite of all the ways we were different, Drue had spent a lot of her life being lonely… just like me.

I don't answer. I shut my eyes and hold my breath and hope whoever it is will think I'm not here and go home.

But I do know a kind of madness that lies low in the mind, half-buried in consciousness, which lives in parallel to sanity, and given the right circumstances or even just half a chance, creeps like a lick of flame or a growing tumour up and around ordinary perception, consuming it for a while, and causing one, even when not at the movies, to quake in fear of the world and people and what they--I mean, of, we--are capable of.