Natasha Leggero Quotes

It’s funny—when people call you “shy,” they usually smile. Like it’s cute, some funny little habit you’ll grow out of when you’re older, like the gaps in your grin when your baby teeth fall out. If they knew how it felt—really being shy, not just unsure at first—they wouldn’t smile. Not if they knew how the feeling knots up your stomach or makes your palms sweat or robs you of the ability to say anything that makes sense. It’s not cute at all.

The fear of being laughed at makes cowards of us all.

If you're OK with being clumsy, it's funny. But if you are super embarrassed, people are going to laugh at you.

It's hard to lead a cavalry charge if you think you look funny on a horse.

I just can't stand the sound of my voice sometimes, or how my face looks. There are always a few times at every premiere when I just have to cover my eyes when I'm up there.

I spent every day just praying that I didn't look like a big dork on camera.

I always think that I've embarrassed myself.

I never really wanted to be a singer, because I was a super-shy kid. Singing made me feel awkward, and I was really insecure.

I don't know if I want to walk down the street and have everyone staring. I think that would be awful. I'm a pretty shy person, really.

It truly is a little intimidating to go speak at a middle school. Sure, on one hand the kids are only around 13 years old, but on the other hand, merely going back there reactivates the dorky, miserable feeling of being that age again. It isn't easy. As soon as I arrived I could almost feel the braces on my teeth, the don't-look-at-me slouch of my shoulders, the feathered wings of my bangs.

Shyness is a curious thing, because, like quicksand, it can strike people at any time, and also, like quicksand, it usually makes its victims look down.

I'm terrified of men these days. If someone asked me out now, I don't know what I'd say, how I'd react. But I couldn't go through with it, not at all. I suppose I've been terrified of them all along.

I'm so shy now I wear sunglasses everywhere I go.

I hate going into a room with people in it and the feeling of them staring. I find every moment excruciating.

I think we all fear appearing foolish in public. We don't want to be laughed at.

The last thing in the world I should have done was go into the theater because was inordinately shy as a young man. I couldn't open my mouth. At a party, I was the one stuck up against the wall. I was embarrassed about talking. I felt that I couldn't talk well.

I think that all of us are 5-year-olds and we don't want to be embarrassed in the schoolyard.

People come up to me all the time. If I'm with friends or in a crowd, I'm fine, but if I'm by myself, I get afraid because people are nuts.

I was an awkward kid.

As I got older, I became so self conscious about my birthmark that I was very hesitant about going to a pool party, because I didn't want my makeup to rub off.

I have a dread of sounding pretentious and try not to talk too much about what I do.

I used to stutter really badly. Everybody thinks it's funny. And it's not funny. It's not.

I'm super shy, especially at parties.

Walking into a room filled with people you don't know but who know you brings out your worst vulnerabilities.

I'm a bad interview because I want to always feel like I'm being totally honest, but at the same time, I'm absolutely paranoid. That combination results in a lot of spaces.