Drama Seekers Quotes

narcissistic drama-seeker who covered a fragile ego with a bullying impulse and, this time, took American democracy to the brink.

In wartime, one didn’t think very far into the future. Just lived from day to day.

Not for the first time Penelope wished that she were truly religious. She believed, of course, and went to church at Christmas and Easter, because without something to believe in, life would be intolerable

Person:Drama starter.. Mod: Have Been removed because they start drama.. Useless. Brat. Attention-seeker. Voice: "Hey, its ok. Your ok. I know it hurts." He looks up. Father Poe: Ruffles up my hair Your ok, kid. Hugs him Ily father

Trump loyalists quickly began trying to tear down Hutchinson’s credibility. Yet even as some contradicted specific elements in her testimony, she had painted a familiar portrait of Trump, one that dozens of people who worked for his company, political campaigns, and government tried masking over four decades: a narcissistic drama-seeker who covered a fragile ego with a bullying impulse and, this time, took American democracy to the brink.

They will call you quiet because you’re perfectly happy in silence. They will call you weak because you avoid conflict and drama. They will call you obsessed for being passionate about the things you love. They will call you rude for not engaging in social pleasantries. They will call you arrogant for having self-respect. They will call you boring for not being extrovert. They will call you wrong for having different beliefs. They will call you shy when you choose not to interact in small talk. They will call you weird because you choose not to conform to societal trends. They will call you fake for trying your best to remain positive. They will call you a loner because you’re comfortable being on your own. They will call you lost for not following the same route as others. They will call you a geek for being a knowledge-seeker. They will call you ugly for not looking like celebrities. They will call you dumb for not being an academic. They will call you crazy for thinking differently from others. They will call you cheap for knowing value for money. They will call you disloyal for distancing yourself from negative people.

The reality is that men are hurting and that the whole culture responds to them by saying, “Please do not tell us what you feel.” I have always been a fan of the Sylvia cartoon where two women sit, one looking into a crystal ball as the other woman says, “He never talks about his feelings.” And the woman who can see the future says, “At two P.M. all over the world men will begin to talk about their feelings—and women all over the world will be sorry.” If we cannot heal what we cannot feel, by supporting patriarchal culture that socializes men to deny feelings, we doom them to live in states of emotional numbness. We construct a culture where male pain can have no voice, where male hurt cannot be named or healed. It is not just men who do not take their pain seriously. Most women do not want to deal with male pain if it interferes with the satisfaction of female desire. When feminist movement led to men’s liberation, including male exploration of “feelings,” some women mocked male emotional expression with the same disgust and contempt as sexist men. Despite all the expressed feminist longing for men of feeling, when men worked to get in touch with feelings, no one really wanted to reward them. In feminist circles men who wanted to change were often labeled narcissistic or needy. Individual men who expressed feelings were often seen as attention seekers, patriarchal manipulators trying to steal the stage with their drama. When I was in my twenties, I would go to couples therapy, and my partner of more than ten years would explain how I asked him to talk about his feelings and when he did, I would freak out. He was right. It was hard for me to face that I did not want to hear about his feelings when they were painful or negative, that I did not want my image of the strong man truly challenged by learning of his weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Here I was, an enlightened feminist woman who did not want to hear my man speak his pain because it revealed his emotional vulnerability. It stands to reason, then, that the masses of women committed to the sexist principle that men who express their feelings are weak really do not want to hear men speak, especially if what they say is that they hurt, that they feel unloved. Many women cannot hear male pain about love because it sounds like an indictment of female failure. Since sexist norms have taught us that loving is our task whether in our role as mothers or lovers or friends, if men say they are not loved, then we are at fault; we are to blame.

Absence is the wind that blows out the little candle, but fans the embers of a fire to a great blaze.

the die is cast, There will be time to audit The accounts later, there will be sunlight later And the equation will come out at last.

Losing confidence in the external world as providing a narrative plot, moderns turned inward, and when they couldn’t find anything inside to make any sense of their lives, they became aimless wanderers, seekers who are “always learning but never able to acknowledge the truth” (2 Tim. 3:7).

It was good. And nothing good is ever lost. It stays part of a person, becomes part of one’s character.

Your children never stopped being children. Even when they were thirty-eight and successful career women. You could bear anything for yourself, but seeing your children hurt was unendurable.

Were you lonely?’ ‘I was alone. But that’s not the same as being lonely.

Lucky girl.’ She handed over the pass, and Penelope thanked her and went out of the room clutching her ticket to freedom. The train journey was endless. Portsmouth to Bath. Bath to Bristol. Bristol to Exeter. At Exeter she had to wait an hour and then get onto the slow, stopping train that would take her on to Cornwall. She did not mind. She sat, in the dirty train, in a corner seat and stared through the soot-smeared window. Dawlish, and her first glimpse of the sea; only the English Channel, but still, better than nothing.

Far up in the sky a plane, a tiny silver toy, flew over. They both looked up and watched it go. Sophie said, ‘I don’t like planes. They remind me of the war.’ ‘Do you ever forget it?’ ‘Sometimes, I let myself. I pretend it hasn’t happened. It’s easy to pretend on a day like this.

should be a better person. But I am not good. I am selfish. I think about nobody but myself. This terrible war has started and things are going to get very bad before it is all over. Sons will be killed, and daughters too, and fathers and brothers, and all I can feel is thankful because you are coming home. I’ve missed you so much. But now we can be together again. However bad things get, at least we’ll be together.

What are you reading?’ She picked up the book. ‘Elizabeth and her German Garden. Sophie, you must have read that a hundred times.’ ‘At least. But I always go back to it. It comforts me. Soothes me. It reminds me of a world that once existed and will exist again when the war is finished.

Self-reliance. This was the key word, the one thing that could pull you through any crisis fate chose to hurl at you. To be yourself. Independent. Not witless. Still able to make your own decisions and plot the course of what remains of your life.