Quotes About Fear

That is why in adult life, people generally tend to relive rather than live, that is, to repeat the patterns of the past and defend the primary fantasy in the defiance, and avoid the real gamble or real adventure of taking a chance on something new. They are afraid that if they really cry out, if they really ask, if they really scream for help, that it won't come, and they'll be in the same panicky frightened state they were in when they were little.

Indeed, the entire process of neurotic living is directed toward resisting a richer, more fulfilled way of life due to the fear of ultimate loss or separation. Throughout life there is a constant struggle between the drive toward actualizing one's potential and the tendency to be self-denying and self-destructive. A "successful" psychotherapy would be a catalyst for a lifetime process of growing.

Once we know, on a deep level, that we must die, we choose, in various ways, purposely to give up our life in order to dispel the unbearable feelings of helplessness and dread.

Death indeed will terminate my story, but it will not conclude it; for it will make all my hopes into might-have-beens and my fears into never-minds, and so make absurd the anticipatory coherences by which I have lived. if I am to have a conclusion, it will have to be a resurection.

The problem with the person who thinks he's a long-term investor and impervious to short-term gyrations is that the emotion of fear and pain will eventually make him sell badly.

Søren Kierkegaard: «Atreverse es perderse un instante, no atreverse es perderse para siempre».

Los hombres eran locos. Sufrían cuando eran felices por miedo a perder la felicidad.

Zas!, perdió... pero lo notable es que estaba asustado de la suerte que había tenido... él mismo hasta entonces había tenido una relativa confianza en su martingala...

Los libros son finitos, los encuentros sexuales son finitos, pero el deseo de leer y de follar es infinito, sobrepasa nuestra propia muerte, nuestros miedos, nuestras esperanzas de paz.

And I thought:History is like a horror story.

the borders he respected were the borders of dreams, the misty borders of love and indifference, the borders of courage and fear, the golden borders of ethics.

All names disappear. Children should be taught that in elementary school. But we're afraid to teach them.

Is that the true, the supreme terror, to discover that I am the wizened youth whose cries no one can hear?

I am being followed, I realized, with a blend of certitude and astonishment, like a soldier discovering that gangrene has taken hold of his leg.

These weren't comforting nights, much less pleasant ones, but Espinoza discovered two things that helped him mightily in the early days: he would never be a fiction writer, and, in his own way, he was brave.

One day I'll die of cancer.

The night was dark as pitch or coal. Stupid expressions, thought Pereda. European nights might be pitch-dark or coal-black, but not American nights, which are dark like a void, where there's nothing to hold on to, no shelter from the elements, just empty, storm-whipped space, above and below.

People see what they want to see and what people want to see never has anything to do with the truth. People are cowards to the last breath. I'm telling you between you and me: the human being, broadly speaking, is the closest thing there is to a rat.

I hope you die, I said. I hope I die, he said, and then he said: I know I'm going to die.

quieren ver a los grandes maestros en sesiones de esgrima de entrenamiento, pero no quieren saber nada de los combates de verdad, en donde los grandes maestros luchan contra aquello, ese aquello que nos atemoriza a todos, ese aquello que acoquina y encacha, y hay sangre y heridas mortales y fetidez.

Una risa que me empujaba a salir huyendo de su lado y que al mismo tiempo me proporcionaba la certeza de que no existía ningún lugar adonde pudiera huir.

Todo realismo visceral era una carta de amor, el pavoreo demencial de un pájaro idiota a la luz de la luna, algo bastante vulgar y sin importancia.

Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze paths into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against that something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.

El silencio es como una pantalla blanca que hay que llenar. Si la llenas, ya nada malo puede ocurrirte.