Quotes About Shame

She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.

He knew that conscience was chiefly fear of society or fear of oneself.

They continued to mount the winding staircase. A high wind, blowing through the loopholes, went rushing up the shaft, and filled the girl's skirts like a balloon, so that she was ashamed, until he took the hem of her dress and held it down for her. He did it perfectly simply, as he would have picked up her glove. She remembered this always.

Shame, what was it? It was part of extreme delight. It was that part of delight of which man is usually afraid. Why afraid? The secret, shameful things are most terribly beautiful.

He knew his heart's core was a fat, awful worm. His dread was lest anyone else should know. His anguish of hate was against anyone who knew, and recoiled.

She knew she submitted to life, which was her immediate master. But from her death, her ultimate master, she winced with fear and shame.

She suddenly became aware of his keen blue eyes upon her, taking her all in. Instantly her broken boots and her frayed old frock hurt her. She resented his seeing everything. Even he knew that her stocking was not pulled up. She went into the scullery, blushing deeply. And afterwards her hands trembled slightly at her work, she nearly dropped all she handled. When her inside dream was shaken, her body quivered with trepidation. She resented that he saw so much.

She searched earnestly in herself to see if she wanted Paul Morel. She felt there would be some disgrace in it. Full of twisted feeling, she was afraid she did want him. She stood selfconvicted. Then came an agony of new shame. She shrank within herself in a coil of torture. Did she want Paul Morel, and did he know she wanted him? What a subtle infamy upon her! She felt as if her whole soul coiled into knots of shame.

I'd be ashamed to see a woman walking around with my name-label on her, address and railway station, like a wardrobe trunk.

Their intimacy was so abstract, he did not know he wanted to crush her onto his breast to ease the ache there. He was afraid of her. The fact that he might want her as a man wants a woman had in him been suppressed into shame.

The refinements of passion, the extravagances of sensuality! And necessary, forever necessary, to burn out false shames and smelt out the heaviest ore of the body into purity. With the fire of sheer sensuality.

XVII. THE PROPAGANDA OF HISTORY How the facts of American history have in the last half century have been falsified because the nation was ashamed. The South was ashamed because it fought to perpetuate human slavery. The North was ashamed because it had to call in the black men to save the Union, abolish slavery and establish democracy.

O sight of pity, shame and dole! O fearful thought - a convict soul.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex,   Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Yet part for honesty and part for shame, I had remained silent. I could only comfort myself with remembering that we should soon meet again, and that the future might be kinder. Well, sometimes the future is kinder, but it is never the same thing as the past.

CUT TO: ERNIE, another prisoner, sitting on john, pants down.

Put off this sloth," the master said, "for shame! Sitting on feather-pillows, lying reclined Beneath the blanket is no way to fame— Fame, without which man's life wastes out of mind, Leaving on earth no more memorial Than foam in water or smoke upon the wind.

When I realized that I was smarter than my parents, I felt tremendous shame for having thought that.

It's one of the things in life I really feel ashamed about. I was not very sensitive, and I hurt their feelings. I shouldn't have. They had done so much to make sure I could go there, but I just didn't want them around. I didn't want anyone to know I had parents.

As Leonardo's well-attended baptism attests, being born out of wedlock was not a cause for public shame. The nineteenth-century cultural historian Jacob Burckhardt went so far as to label Renaissance Italy "a golden age for bastards.

at that moment experienced the painful internal feeling of that peculiar spedes of shame, which well-constructed minds feel when they see others express a great assumption of importance, with a confidence that they are exciting admiration, when in fact they are only exposing themselves to ridicule.

It was beyond embarrassing or humiliating or even mortifying. It was ego-slaying!

Blue Face Disgusting taste Flush it Shush it Cold disgrace

If he wanted to drink himself to death it was nobody's affair but his own; his life was his life to throw away, if that's what he wanted; but—was that what he wanted? If so, why did he suffer remorse? Obviously there was the will in him to destroy himself; part of him was bent on self-destruction—he'd be the last to deny it. But obviously, too, part was not; part held back and expressed its disapproval in remorse and shame.