Laurell K. Hamilton Quotes

I never think people are too careful with me.

Love makes me vulnerable. In business I'm tough on myself - I'm like a drill sergeant. If I'm down, I'm used to getting right back up, but when it comes to love, your heart can't do that.

The fear of this delicate and fierce feminine has more to do with our fear of being vulnerable again, getting hurt again, than it does by our actual distaste for the beauty of the feminine and Her qualities.

Your weak point is the open, vulnerable place where you can always be hurt. Love, in all its aspects, opens the self so fully.

Trust is not very easy for me at all. I want to be a trusting person, but I've been bruised so many times - not to sound woe-is-me about my life.

Then she took my hand and touched it to the wound beside her eye. I caressed the half-inch scar. As I did so, the waves of her consciousness pulsed through my fingertips and into me - a delicate resonance of longing. Probably someone should take this girl in his arms and hold her tight, I thought. Probably someone other than me. Someone qualified to give her something. "Goodbye, Mr. Wind-Up Bird. See you again sometime.

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

There are accounts that, if we open our hearts to them, will cut us too deeply.

We didn't talk about our scars, the ones you could see and the ones you couldn't.

That’s an unfortunate place for a birthmark,” I said, more than a little unnerved that it was so similarly positioned to my own scar. Patch casually but noticeably slid his sleeve down over his wrist. “You’d prefer it someplace more private?” “I wouldn’t prefer it anywhere.” I wasn’t sure how this sounded and tried again. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t have it at all.” I tried a third time. “I don’t care about your birthmark, period.

Love isn't about honesty. It's about protecting the people you love from things that will hurt them.

Not even Carol knows firsthand how it feels to be hurt in such a way by someone who's supposed to protect you

Because letting someone in close meant they could hurt you. I knew all about that kind of fear. I lived with it.

When the wound/ No longer hurts/ The scar does.

When you're doing something like body paint or a nude shoot, you're making yourself very vulnerable, and you're really trusting people to really take care of you and make sure everything is very professional.

In the past I was very open and very generous, and I found that it just exploded in my face. A lot of people weren't there for me when I needed them. So I have become a little shell shocked. Subsequently almost paranoid and frightened of people now. Maybe I'm losing out in meeting some marvelous people, but I am doing the only thing I can to save my spirit.

In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I'm struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else's arms have made me feel this safe.

I'd rather bleed with cuts of love than live without any scars.

Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts." "Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta.

I wanted to tell you everything. And that hurt because some things were too scary. Some things even I didn’t understand. How could I tell someone—someone I was really talking to for the first time—everything I was thinking? I couldn’t. It was too soon.

I can't let them see my doubts, or the wounds they've inflicted on me.

I had a very easy time loving an audience. But when it's one-on-one with somebody, all I wanted to do was run away, because maybe they're going to want something from me I can't give, or they're going to hurt me.

Roarke cares very much for Beth and for me, and a few select others. But loves? I'm not sure he'd let himself risk quite that unstable an emotion.

I find it actually the height of romance to legally bind yourself to someone because you're really taking care of someone, and letting them take care of you. I actually have no cynicism about that.

When he first put his arms around me, it was tentative, like maybe he expected I'd pull away. When I didn't, he moved in closer, his hands smoothing over my shoulders, and in my mind I saw myself retreating a million times when people tried to do this same thing: my sister or my mother, pulling back and into myself, tucking everything out of sight, where only I knew where to find it. This time, though, I gave in. I let Wes pull me against him, pressing my head against his chest, where I could feel his heart beating, steady and true.