132 Quotes About Sensitive

She is sensitive. She does not see the world as it is. She’s a bit up in the clouds. She cannot fit in.

The first and truest thing is that all truth is a paradox. Life is both a precious, unfathomably beautiful gift, and it's impossible here, on the incarnational side of things. It's been a very bad match for those of us who were born extremely sensitive. It's so hard and weird that we sometimes wonder if we're being punked. It's filled simultaneously with heartbreaking sweetness and beauty, desperate poverty, floods and babies and acne and Mozart, all swirled together

Es war, als hätte ich keine Haut, alles berührte mich.

I’m super fucking sensitive. I love this about myself only slightly more than I can’t stand it. Sometimes I wish I were an unfeeling stone who didn’t take everything so personally and didn’t need so much space all the time. Feeling can get exhausting fast. Mostly, though, I know my sensitivity is a superpower, perhaps my greatest, and it’s the thing that keeps me loving our world in a profound way, when I’m not too busy hiding from it, that is.

a little offending never hurt anybody

My soul is a pale, tenuous membrane..."That was pleasing: a thin, tenuous membrane. It had the right anatomical quality. Tight blown, quivering in the blast of noisy life. It was time for him to descend from the serene empyrean of words into the actual vortex. He went down slowly. "My soul is a thin, tenuous membrane...

Dar aici este diferenta dintre mintile noastre, draga mea. Eu vreau sa ajung la revelatie purtat de aripi, in timp ce tu inaintezi statornic pe jos, cu lupa in mana. Eu sunt un ratacitor nestatornic, il caut pe Dumnezeu in contururile mari, caut o cale noua de cunoastere. Tu stai cu picioarele pe pamant si masori dovezile palma cu palma. Calea ta e mai rationala si mai metodica, dar eu nu pot sa mi-o schimb pe a mea.

It is a fact that even warming moments overwhelm me with despair, and this is why I am I.

The boundary between the real and the unreal had been let down in Foote's mind, and between the comings and goings of the cloud-shadows and the dark errands of the ghosts there was no longer any way of making a selection. He had entered the cobwebby borderland between the human and the animal, where nothing is ever more than half true, and only as much as half true for the moment.("There Shall Be No Darkness")