Best 2190 quotes in «anxiety quotes» category

Her voice sounded much cooler than she felt. Inside, her internal organs were grinding themselves into nervous pulp. Her intestines were gone. Her kidneys were disintegrating. Her stomach was wringing itself out, yanking on her trachea.

Her teeth and lips are tinted purple from the Kool-Aid. Mine are probably purple too, but I can’t see them. You can’t see your own face from within it. This is something I have always struggled with

He was agitated for some reason that he could not name. (page 35)

He who cares for the sparrows and numbers the hairs of our head, cannot possibly fail us.

He thought the library door would never open again, but that he would be left to live out the rest of his life rooted to the spot on the library carpet, afraid to move a muscle lest the house fall upon his shoulders. He deliberately shrugged them and shuffled his feel just to prove to himself that it could be done.

his face, though lined, bore few traces of anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in Tellson's Bank were principally occupied with the cares of other people; and perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily off and on.

His ideas assumed a kind of stupefied and mechanical quality which is peculiar to despair.

His terror became his companion. When it seemed to diminish, or grow easier to bear, he forced himself to remember the details of what he had said and done so that his fears returned, redoubled. His previous life, which had been without fear, he now dismissed as an illusion since he had come to believe that only in fear could the truth be found. When he woke from sleep without anxiety, he asked himself, What is wrong? What is missing? And then his door opened slowly, and a child put its head around and gazed at him: there are wheels, Ned thought, wheels within wheels. The curtains were now always closed, for the sun horrified him: he was reminded of a film he had seen some time before, and how the brightness of the noonday light had struck the water where a man, in danger of drowning, was struggling for his life.

[He] was anxious about something, but he knew: he was worried because to be alive was to worry. Life was scary; it was unknowable.

Historians will probably call our era “the age of anxiety.” Anxiety is the natural result when our hopes are centered in anything short of God and His will for us.

Horses get anxious when their expectations are not met.

How can I put this? There's a king of gap between what I think is real and what's really real. I get this feeling like some kind of little something-or-other is there, somewhere inside me... like a burglar is in the house, hiding in a wardrobe... and it comes out every once in a while and messes up whatever order or logic I've established for myself. The way a magnet can make a machine go crazy.

How could she be anxious when everything was so cheerful? Very easily, as it happens. Brain chemistry doesn’t care about how pretty things are.

How do you fill the space between, "God says it," and, "I believe it,"?

How does one kill fear, I wonder? How do you shoot a spectre through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat?

However vivid they might be, past images and future delights did not protect Sylvia from the present, which "rules despotic over pale shadows of past and future". That was Sylvia's genius and her Panic Bird- her total lack of nostalgia. She had no armor. This left her especially vulnerable in New York, where she was removed from the context of her life, severed from that reassuring arc.

Hey man let me ask you something. Do you sort of feel like you are carrying a low level anxiety about the existence of shark attacks? I mean, just the fact that it really happens, it's horrible, it's horrible enough that you kind of have to worry about it, at least a little bit, almost all the time...

Human beings are walking containers holding ideas, beliefs, feelings and triggers. Love and fears is the only thing that can over power these systems. Everyone lives in this container as they interact with the world ,and sometimes, a combination of these things can create their own imaginary prison.

How much time is wasted in what is called thought, but is merely care--an anxious idling over the fancied probabilities of result

Humans are lamentably insecure creatures.

Humans are born with a hodge-podge of various brain circuits, that possess the seeds of peace, fear, love, hate, rage, pain, love, stress and faith. All these elements compose the emotional domain of our mental life. All these characters are ingrained in our limbic system, that keep our head straight in the path of survival. We humans can survive, only if, all these elements of our brain circuits function properly. Failure of any one element would mean extinction of the whole species.

Hypochondriacs who have a fanciful anxiety about their health will never be well regardless of their physical condition.

I always thought a shipwreck was a well-organized affair, but I've learned the devil a lot in the last five minutes.

I always feel anxious if anyone’s close to uncovering my secrets.

I am a deeply uncertain individual. I often find myself acting like a fool to make the people around me laugh. When they’re laughing, they’re not watching me quite as closely. I smile to put people at ease. But what if I opened my mouth one day, spoke my actual thoughts, and the people glared at my opinions? What if they thought me disgusting or frightening or ugly because of my words? Would you keep your lips shut for the rest of your life to not face that judgment? Just for the sake of someone else’s comfort? For these strangers, who I will never know? If I can’t speak then I’ll write. These strangers, whose opinions crush me, will be forced to listen. Because when they read my words those words will make a home within their heads. They may even end up using my own opinions against me. But at least I’ll be hidden behind the pages of a book.

I am but a frangible Mud brick ordered To build a home in the Big city of humanity; Yet break when Forced to fit.

I am homesick for the time when my heart was whole

I am not going to be a z-biatch. (Enough to: - Carring - Worry - What to say - Anxiety - Depression)

I am nothing more than a girl from the projects born of a single teenage-mother nurtured with love and opportunity

I am stupid, am I not? What more can I want? If you ask them who is brave--who is true--who is just--who is it they would trust with their lives?--they would say, Tuan Jim. And yet they can never know the real, real truth....

I begin to learn there are certain things I shouldn't tell her. Like when we meet boys at Dorrian's and I give mine a blow job, or the time I messed around with a boy in the back near the bathrooms. Amy wants to be intimate with boys too, but to her this kind of conduct is slutty. I suppose it is. She, like most girls, including the Jennifers, has a different relationship to boys than I do. She engages in sexual acts with them if she wants, but from my vantage point it looks like she can take them or leave them if they are not just right. She considers whether she actually likes someone before she jumps into bed with him. She isn't wracked with anxiety when there aren't any boys around. And she doesn't need them to live, which is what it feels like for me.

I admit that at times my prayer for my children is nothing more than vocalized unbelief aimed at God.

I began to listen to myself more... Trusting myself, I discovered, meant giving up control over my decisions. The choice came from me, but not from the part of me that used to decide—the mind that weighed, the mind that projected scenarios, the mind that controlled.

I began to feel alternately too big and too small. First, I grew so big that I took up the whole street; then I grew so small that nobody could see me — not even if I cried out.

I believe with all my heart that just understanding the metapurpose of the anxious struggle helps to make it beautiful. Purposeful, creative, bold, rich, deep things are always beautiful.

I came unglued and went back together the wrong way and fell apart again.

I can't believe what a state I got myself into over this. Everyone was right. They said it would just happen, and it did. I guess the best things do.

How hard it is to now believe that these strong, merciless chains of fear and hopelessness, rendering the limbs of my mind motionless, were once innocuous mere threads.” -Mehul.M

I believe in not trying to control things that are out of my control or none of my business.

I believe I will not not die a minute too early or a minute too late, but exactly when I am supposed to.

I believe there are only three businesses: my business, other people's business, and God's business.

I control you, he said to his fear, you do not control me.

I couldn’t make myself happy, but I could make people around me miserable

I could watch him do this until morning — never asking questions and never interrupting his work. I worship quietly — his intense focus and attention to detail and then, out of no where, I realize the inconvenient, inappropriate truth: ‘I love this man… and it has swallowed me.

I crave stillness, And yet I fear the moment Stillness turns into boredom, And the moment boredom Turns into loneliness.

I believe we see a sliver of heaven when we dream, but our mortal fears and worries cloud our vision.

I'd developed an inability to demonstrate much negative emotion at all. It was another thing that made me seem like a dick - my stomach could be all oiled eels, and you would get nothing from my face and less from my words. It was a constant problem: too much control or no control at all.

I did my best parenting by prayer. I began to speak less to the kids and more to God. It was actually quite relaxing.

I discovered I was infected with a terrible suspicion of myself and my inability to stay still, my dreadful insomnia of place.

I didn't look over my shoulder; there wasn't a sound behind me on the pavement, but I knew he was coming slowly after me. The crawl of the skin up and down my back told me. Little needles of warning that gathered at the back of my skull told me. I'd never known until then that the jungles aren't so very far behind us, after all, and tails, and four feet instead of two. Where else did those symptoms come from? ("Don't Wait Up For Me, Tonight")