Demi Lovato Quotes

I bruise easily so be gentle when you handle me.

No mat­ter how much I try and hide this, bit by bit, I start to fall apart.

Jeezum—humans were like eggshells.

He said, You're so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.

My impression was, he's walking as though he's made of glass, and if you should touch him he would just shatter apart. I don't know if it was an act or what, but it sure was effective.

Sometimes I feel my arm is like a swan's neck - so weak.

I think it's an interesting thing to watch when a person is trying to keep it together and then ultimately when they do lose it a little bit.

But once in a while . . . I don't know. I feel so close, Rose. So close to the edge. Like if I allow myself one small misstep, I'll plunge away and never come back. It's like I'll lose myself.

Sometimes I wish I could walk around with a HANDLE WITH CARE sign stuck to my forehead.

I'm still vulnerable and still weak.

Every plan is a house of cards.

Glass breaks so easily. No matter how careful you are.

I am desperate and vulnerable. ... I am always terrified.... Beauty can sometimes be so very troublesome.

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 find at moments I'm as fragile as glass.

America is a really delicate flower that needs a lot of attention.

You spend so much time, so much effort, trying to hold yourself together. And then everything falls apart anyway.

I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!

Humans are vulnerable, because they’re capable of being hurt.

Part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you.

I have spent my life falling. Not the kind that Tiny's talking about. He's talking about love. I'm talking about life. In my kind of falling, there's no landing. There's only hitting the ground. Hard. Dead, or wanting to be dead. So the whole time you're falling, it's the worst feeling in the world. Because you feel you have no control over it. Because you know how it ends.

I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.

I'm a total wreck. Afraid to let anyone near. Afraid they'll see the real me.

This is how your heart gets snagged, like a balloon on a barbed-wire fence, this is where pieces of you get torn away.

Now it is you who everyone presumes is so fragile. Wounded. Scarred. Maybe they're right. Perhaps you are. A nursery rhyme comes into your head, and, like an egg, you allow yourself to topple onto your side, your legs still pulled hard against your torso. You lie like that a long while, watching the chrome shell of the tape measure sparkle until the sun moves.