Best 218 quotes in «panic quotes» category

Nobody had ever done everything because few things are better remained untouched sometimes. Don’t panic because you can’t do all that the world should offer, be eager and glad that you have reached the thought up to this.

No. No!” he says. “I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know. “You can’t go. Ana, I love you!” “I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—” “No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .” “No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What? “Christian, what are you doing?” He continues to stare down, not looking at me. “Christian! What are you doing?” My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant. Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.

Oh, my, god, we are in a killing room. This is just like an episode of Dexter! They are going to murder us!” Mia exclaimed as she started to cry.

Once again I felt light-headed, but this time it wasn't from the scent of lilacs; it was from the scent of my own death.

One editor during the Civil War got a grievous message to meet his brothers corpse, only to find out that the telegraph operator had garbled the message to meet his living brother's CORPS.

One man’s panic funds another’s picnic.

On either side of a potentially violent conflict, an opportunity exists to exercise compassion and diminish fear based on recognition of each other's humanity. Without such recognition, fear fueled by uninformed assumptions, cultural prejudice, desperation to meet basic human needs, or the panicked uncertainty of the moment explodes into violence.

Panicking never helps.

Panic reared up through me, hot and blazing and blurry, and that was it.

Panic and terror aren't the only kinds of fear. There are deeper kinds, more terrible kinds. Apprehension and heavy, heavy dread.

Panic is like a wall, trapping you within the limited borders of your own mind.

Oh, get off it with that. So sensitive about language. Mate, love, nest, whatever. Point is, it stinks, especially when it goes bad. I get wanting to run away.

One critic complained to me that "Well, if you are right, we will have to rewrite the textbooks!" As if that were a bad thing ... [But], curiously, some of our most virulent critics are associated with NASA and the government. A NASA employee tells me that this attitude of opposition to impact threats is entrenched in NASA and is only now slowly beginning to change. When it became obvious to NASA decades ago that asteroids and comets are a serious threat, their employees were instructed by top government officials to downplay the risk. The government was concerned that the populace would "panic" over space rocks and demand action, when NASA couldn't do anything about them and didn't want to admit it. Plus, trying to mitigate any impact hazards would have used up funding they wanted to put elsewhere.

Over the years I've done everything from small organization units in condo closets with sliding doors, to one massive one-thousand-square-foot duplex closet for a pamper socialite that included a wall of climate-controlled storage for her substantial fur collection, and no lie, a CIA-level fingerprint lock on the door. The only thing that was ever more fun was doing a panic room for a paranoid woman who had recently lost her husband. She wanted to be sure that if someone broke into her Gold Coast brownstone she could survive in comfort for at least a week. We referred to her as the Preppy Prepper, giving her a large panic room with en suite bathroom, which included a mini kitchen stocked with canned caviar and smoked oysters and splits of vintage champagne, completely upholstered in a huge-scale blowsy floral chintz.

Panic is poison.

Pan again!" said Dr. Bull irritably. "You seem to think Pan is everything." "So he is," said the Professor, "in Greek. He means everything." "Don't forget," said the Secretary, looking down, "that he also means Panic.

Panic ain't better than pretending not to feel so.

Panic might feel like a bad thing, but in actual fact, it contains thousands of little splinters of hope. When panic is gone, it usually means that those splinters are gone too.

[Pope] Clement waved his hands in irritation as if to dismiss the very idea. "The world is crumbling into ruin. Armies are marching. Men and women are dying everywhere, in huge numbers. Fields are abandoned and towns deserted. The wrath of the Lord is upon us and He may be intending to destroy the whole of creation. People are without leaders and direction. They want to be given a reason for this, so they can be reassured, so they will return to their prayers and their obiediences. All this is going on, and you are concerned about the safety of two Jews?

[Patricia Highsmith] was overwhelmed by sensory stimulation - there were too many people and too much noise and she just could not handle the supermarket. She continually jumped, afraid that someone might recognise or touch her. She could not make the simplest of decisions - which type of bread did she want, or what kind of salami? I tried to do the shopping as quickly as possible, but at the check-out she started to panic. She took out her wallet, knocked off her glasses, dropped the money on the floor, stuff was going all over the place.

Ray's voice echoes in my head from one of his many self-defense lectures. "It's the panic that's gonna kill you or get you seriously hurt, Annie.

Remember what you always say: no problem has ever been solved by panicking.

Safety is largely an illusion, and panic knows this.

Panic was the death of thought.

Remember, panic’s a guy, and we just punch him in the face.

Sam wanted to get up, calmly set his napkin down, and sprint out into the night.

She stared at the surface of her coffee, swirling in her mug. Tiny universes rose and fell in the liquid depths as the moment dragged out into uncomfortable territory. Oh god! her mind screamed. (God didn't answer.)

She added in a tight, defensive voice that she panicked when she did jobs, it gave her existential panic. She could do them for a while, but it felt like darning socks in a burning building. Time was running out and . . . Did he ever get that?

Sit on a roof and have a cigarette and a nice long panic, just like I used to when I was seventeen.

She was young and scared, and hadn't realized there was time to spare.

Scared people did scary things sometimes, even kids.

Something like panic struck at Hurlow. Moffat's calm confession of fear withdrew the prop upon which he had leaned. Down there, among the motionless shadows, lurked invisible things, things that were nameless, shapeless and malignant; things which could see without being seen. One of the long lost terrors of childhood returned to him, and like a child he put his hand into Moffat's.

Survivors often develop an exaggerated need for control in their adult relationships. It’s the only way they feel safe. They also struggle with commitment—saying yes in a relationship means being trapped in yet another family situation where abuse might take place. So the survivor panics as her relationship gets closer, certain that something terrible is going to happen. She pulls away, rejects, or tests her partner all the time.

The panic crawled throughout his limbs like a million tiny newborn spiders.

Slow down and think. Panic doesn’t solve problems; it just creates new ones.

There's panic, and then there's panic, Commander. Fear of the odds, of the enemy, even of death is one thing. All of us feel that. We'd be fools if we didn't. But we learn not to let it dictate our responses. We can't, if we're going to do our jobs. But there's another sort of terror: the terror of failure, of being blamed for some disaster, or of assuming responsibility. It's not just the fear of dying; it's the fear of living through something like Seaford while everyone laughs behind your back at what an idiot you were to allow yourself to be placed in such a disastrous situation.

The sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine.

The city was in a panic, though a panic in Italy means most people still stand around coffee bars drinking espresso and Prosecco.

The veneer of civilization fell away to reveal desperate animals, humanity at their worst.

The words kept coming and he could not stop them, not while Callie was standing there so indecipherably, and so he was going to keep talking until he used up all the words there were and then no one would be able to talk to anyone else anymore and then all anyone would have left were one another's unintelligible faces, and maybe some weird gesturing, too, and it would be all Oscar's fault.

The panic was there, staring me down in the face, all the time, like I had a hoodie on backwards and I couldn't get it off.

This is not a crisis, I told myself. You are alive.

The worst part about anxiety attacks, is that you’re aware it’s irrational and sometimes unexplainable, but knowing that gives no aid what so ever. In most cases, it deepens the anxiety as you realise “if I know it’s irrational, why can’t I stop it… Oh god I can’t stop it” you begin to believe you are no longer in control of your mind. That. That is fear.

The vision I see in the mirror is me, who I am, supposedly, but that vision does not express the way my mind works or the way I feel inside. A realization creeps over me, the words tumbling into my head quietly like falling leaves. I. Am. Crazy. This is my new shameful truth. Something changed yesterday. A door has been opened that I can never close again. I touch my reflection, the glass smooth and cold, not really believing that the girl I see is me.

To take a breath of water: does the thought panic or excite you?

What should be standing in the shoes of passion, and be walking on the plans of action is sitting in the ink on the papper. Why? Because of the fear to start.

Tommy and Scootie locked eyes. Only minutes ago, he wouldn't have believed that he could ever have felt such a kinship with the Labrador as he felt now.

We don't shout 'Don't panic !' towards anyone who's in panic.

Without prayer, life is a panic.

Yesterday it was sun outside. The sky was blue and people were lying under blooming cherry trees in the park. It was Friday, so records were released, that people have been working on for years. Friends around me find success and level up, do fancy photo shoots and get featured on big, white, movie screens. There were parties and lovers, hand in hand, laughing perfectly loud, but I walked numbly through the park, round and round, 40 times for 4 hours just wanting to make it through the day. There's a weight that inhabits my chest some times. Like a lock in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A little less air got through and the sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine. This is not beautiful. This is not useful. You can not do anything with it and it tries to control you, throw you off your balance and lovely ways but you can not let it. I cleaned up. Took myself for a walk. Tried to keep my eyes on the sky. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed away from the destructive tools we learn to use. the smoking and the starving, the running, the madness, thinking it will help but it only feeds the fire and I don't want to hurt myself anymore. I made it through and today I woke up, lighter and proud because I'm still here. There are flowers growing outside my window. The coffee is warm, the air is pure. In a few hours I'll be on a train on my way to sing for people who invited me to come, to sing, for them. My own songs, that I created. Me—little me. From nowhere at all. And I have people around that I like and can laugh with, and it's spring again. It will always be spring again. And there will always be a new day.