Laura Marling Quotes

At this, Constance sat down on a rock and covered her face. She seemed smaller than ever now - so small the harbor breeze might catch her up like a scrap of paper and carry her away, carry her into nowhere.

I'm still vulnerable and still weak.

Pathetic

At the 2018 Hero World Challenge, I felt brittle. I felt like a gust of wind could push me over if I wasn't careful.

Most anger stems from feelings of weakness, sadness and fear: hard to remember when one is at the receiving end of its defiant roar.

My heart is a teacup with hairline cracks. I feel like I have to walk real carefully so it won't get shaken and just all shatter and break.

How does this happen? To fall in love and be disassembled.

Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair.

When you're in that state of grief, any little breeze, any hello, any confrontation, any grazing of someone meeting your eyes, might cause you suddenly to burst into grief. You could be looking at a jar of peanut butter in the supermarket, and then start crying.

I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that's all....a day.....an hour.

...a sad sort of vulnerability was wafting from her, making the night smell like maple syrup.

The most pitiful human ailment is a birdseed heart.

I am as vulnerable and fragile as it is possible to be. I am shredded to the core. I am at the point where I am stripped bare.

I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.

I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

Zach walked away, but I stood there for a long time, wondering if I should go to my mother; if I should go to my friends; but instead I slipped into the corridors I hadn't used in months, pushed my way through cobwebs and darkness, trying to walk away from the tears that burned hot down my cheeks, because maybe I didn't want to admit weakness; maybe I wanted to wallow in my solitude and grief. Or maybe crying is like everything else we do—it's best if you don't get caught.

The truth is that I feel totally helpless, or totally inconsolable, to be more honest. I’m not trying to hide it, but it’s something you’re not to worry about.

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag, drifting throught the wind, wanting to start again. Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin, like a house of cards, one blow from caving in.

When you're grieving that's not the time to be brave or strong, you need to let it show

I'm always weeping at something or other.

I'm so involved in melancholy.

I feel extremely vulnerable.

Personal disintegration remains always an imminent danger.

I'm feeling a little delicate.

I'm a crybaby.