Fragile Ego Quotes

But by far the worst thing we do to males—by making them feel they have to be hard—is that we leave them with very fragile egos. The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is.

And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls: You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man. If you are the breadwinner in your relationship with a man, pretend that you are not, especially in public, otherwise you will emasculate him.

Thank you,” Skulduggery said to her. “I fear he was about to start insulting me.” “I couldn’t let that happen,” she said. “Your ego is a fragile and delicate thing.” “You see? You understand me.

I’ve learned that power is not bad, but the abuse of power or using power over others is the opposite of courage; it’s a desperate attempt to maintain a very fragile ego.

Eve rose stiffly when he strode out of the house. In silence, she watched Julia look after him. "The male ego," Eve murmured as she crossed the room to put an arm around Julia's shoulders. "It's a huge and fragile thing. I always envision it as an enormous penis made of thin glass.

Those who hate, are merely wallowing in self pity. Those who lie about someone to destroy his or her spirit, are simply trying to hide their fragile egos.

Donald’s ego has been and is a fragile and inadequate barrier between him and the real world, which, thanks to his father’s money and power, he never had to negotiate by himself.

But by far the worst thing we do to males—by making them feel they have to be hard—is that we leave them with very fragile egos. The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is. And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller.

A pickup truck is a fragile ego overcompensated

being referred to as a woman is a compliment, not a put-down. Women can handle all the banes of existence, including being called the bane of existence, and keep on trucking. Our fragile egos don’t cause war and famine.

No, the bigger problem is that we’re proud of not knowing things. Americans have reached a point where ignorance, especially of anything related to public policy, is an actual virtue. To reject the advice of experts is to assert autonomy, a way for Americans to insulate their increasingly fragile egos from ever being told they’re wrong about anything.

Nothing about you or Wonderland makes sense. And the ‘one abiding truth’ is that life was so much easier when I’d forgotten your massive ego and that other world ever existed.” A tremor shifts through his features, first fragile, then severe. His muscles twitch under his T-shirt, sending a tingling sensation through my knuckles. “You want me nonexistent?" Before I can respond, he steps back and flips the hat from his head. Then he drags off his vest and his T-shirt, dropping them all on the floor at my feet. Once he’s peeled off his necklace and bracelets, he stands there facing me in only jeans and boots. I watch him warily. “W-w-what are you doing?” “I’m clearing the way for my massive ego.

A man's ego is a fragile thing; as fragile as a woman's heart

Donald Trump is a liar because he is a coward. It is fear and cowardice that make him lie. it is his fragile ego that makes him lie.

She believed men’s egos were as fragile as eggs.

I hope this book will end the practice of referring to Donald’s “strategies” or “agendas,” as if he operates according to any organizing principles. He doesn’t. Donald’s ego has been and is a fragile and inadequate barrier between him and the real world, which, thanks to his father’s money and power, he never had to negotiate by himself. Donald has always needed to perpetuate the fiction my grandfather started that he is strong, smart, and otherwise extraordinary, because facing the truth—that he is none of those things—is too terrifying for him to contemplate.

Again, I tried to not let it bother me, but the ego is frail, fragile tender thing.

But by far the worst thing we do to males—by making them feel they have to be hard—is that we leave them with very fragile egos. The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is. And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males.

Oh, God, no! Not your fragile ego!” I slapped my hands to my cheeks and feigned horror, earning me one of Till’s one-sided grins. “I know. I took it hard. I had to flex in front of the mirror for a full five minutes before I was able to come down here.

the natural condition of the human ego: that it is empty, painful, busy and fragile.

you have not been placed on this earth to be the sole source of comfort for the black man's fragile ego. Page 221

Most men haven’t got a clue how to treat a woman, let alone respect her. You give women what you think they need and usually that falls way short of what’s actually necessary. And then you fall back on fragile egos, guilting her into taking watered down affection that masquerades as a relationship.

I’ve heard people say that you have to tip-toe around a woman’s emotions, but a man’s ego is every bit as fragile, if not more so.

There is nothing more vulnerable than caring for someone; it means not only giving your energy to that which is not you but also caring for that which is beyond or outside your control. Caring is anxious—to be full of care, to be careful, is to take care of things by becoming anxious about their future, where the future is embodied in the fragility of an object whose persistence matters. Becoming caring is not about becoming good or nice: people who have “being caring” as their ego ideal often act in quite uncaring ways in order to protect their good image of themselves. To care is not about letting an object go but holding on to an object by letting oneself go, giving oneself over to something that is not one’s own.

Have you not realised how fragile and brutal the ego is? It will always choose what it perceives as in its best interest for the cheapest price. It may be as blatant as short skirts and lies. It may be more sophisticated and hidden behind ‘kind’ words. But it all comes from the same place of either using people to get what we want or trying to eliminate people who get in our way.

the bigger problem is that we’re proud of not knowing things. Americans have reached a point where ignorance, especially of anything related to public policy, is an actual virtue. To reject the advice of experts is to assert autonomy, a way for Americans to insulate their increasingly fragile egos from ever being told they’re wrong about anything

Racism hurts (even kills) people of color 24-7. Interrupting it is more important than my feelings, ego, or self-image.

A prize-winning science reporter, Simons had become the number-two editor at the Post a year before. An intent, sensitive man with a large nose, thin face and deep-set eyes, he looks like the kind of Harvard teaching assistant who carries a slide ruler strapped to his belt. But he is skillful with fragile egos, and also the perfect counterpoint to Bradlee. Bradlee is more like Woodward: he wants hard information first and is impatient with theories. -- Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward

So El Dorado is no’ a man.” In a soft tone, Lucia said, “She’s La Dorada, the Gilded Woman. History had it wrong. Really wrong.” “Makes sense.” “What do you mean?” “Say you were a conquistador, hunting for the Gilded One’s gold, yet the native was clever enough to keep a tomb full of it hidden. A native—a woman native— somehow outwits you?” He shook his head. “Back in the day, I met a few gold-hungry conquistadors, and let’s put it this way—the fragility of conquistador ego canna be overstated.

To put it simply, my mother worried. She worried about our neighbors’ reactions. Would they break me with their disparaging glances, their cruel intolerance? She worried I was just like every other teenage girl, all tender heart and fragile ego. She worried I was more myth and figment than flesh and blood. She worried about my calcium levels, my protein levels, even my reading levels. She worried she couldn’t protect me from all of the things that had hurt her: loss and fear, pain and love. Most especially from love.

The poor woman. She couldn’t help what she was. It took a special sort of insanity to run for public office. A fragile megalomania; a delusional ego.

She’d taken on the burden of supporting the family only to find herself tending to his fragile ego as well. She loved Art too much to point that out. She just wished he’d get a fucking job.

The appeal of magic is that it promises to render objects plastic to the will without one’s getting too entangled with them. Treated from arm’s length, the object can issue no challenge to the self. According to Freud, this is precisely the condition of the narcissist: he treats objects as props for his fragile ego and has an uncertain grasp of them as having a reality of their own. The clearest contrast to the narcissist that I can think of is the repairman, who must subordinate himself to the broken washing machine, listen to it with patience, notice its symptoms, and then act accordingly. He cannot treat it abstractly; the kind of agency he exhibits is not at all magical.

We all know the male ego is notoriously fragile. Even the cute ones are a lost cause,” she points out with a lamenting sip, reminding us that she does not like boys. (She’s just unfortunately attracted to them.)

That's a really good idea." She sounded like she really meant it, too. Because of this, he felt bold enough to ask, "Can I see it?" "What? Oh. The painting. You know he hasn't seen it yet." "Yeah." "You'd be the only person besides me to see it." "Yeah." "Okay, fine, but my ego is very fragile about it, so maybe don't tell me anything bad about it. Maybe don't say anything at all. Just grunt, and then I'll pull away real quick.

Of course, "white tears" does not refer to all pain but to the particular emotional fragility a white person experiences when they find racial stress so intolerable they become hypersensitive and defensive, focusing the stress back to their own bruised ego.

The fragile ego of a poor leader can not resist the urge to tug at the delicate fabric of good order and disipline thus unraveling their own true nature.

And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller.

According to Harriet, men were a world apart from women. They required coddling, they had fragile egos, they couldn't allow a woman intelligence or skill if it exceeded their own.

A man only uses the term 'bitch' when his fragile little ego becomes threatened by a woman's intelligence.

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

According to Harriet, men were a world apart from women. They required coddling, they had fragile egos, they couldn’t allow a woman intelligence or skill if it exceeded their own.

Men!” Leanne huffed. “I honestly think the male ego resides in the balls. It’s the only logical reason for how fragile the damn things are.

And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of men.

The nationalism that had been instilled in them for so many generations had produced a citizenry whose ego was so fragile that they refused to acknowledge the rest of the world.

Downs did not blunt her pursuit of excellence at Moon Valley High. Her intelligence was part of her armor against the world. Her name on the honor roll bolstered her still fragile ego.

In a culture where the brain is considered the center of consciousness, an unraveling brain is an unraveling self. To let the mentally unstable live in our midst is to face the fearful fragility of the ego. So we whisper our fears over their heads, driving them into the wilderness of the streets or locking them away where they can’t be seen. We let them pale into husks of human beings, cut off from the mutual blood of society. Sometimes we toss them a coin; it’s a small price to pay for the relief of looking away.

Nothing is ever enough. This is far beyond garden-variety narcissism; Donald is not simply weak, his ego is a fragile thing that must be bolstered every moment because he knows deep down that he is nothing of what he claims to be.

Our own egos are so fragile we cannot bear to give our lives to the raising of children only to have them become ordinary people. There, I said it. The worst thing a 21st-century child of interesting parents could be: ordinary. Like us.

I remember being on the edge of seventeen, that dangerous time between childhood and young adult when the cement is still wet in your mind. That part of your life where things get stuck and form who you are forever, liked or not. Offhand comments, distant laughter, anything a boy’s fragile ego could mistake for a slight on the kind of man he will one day become. There is never a time in your life when love is so sweet, or pain cuts so deep, or when memory is so undeniably carved in stone.

Guys like this Henry always pushed even the most unfunny joke two steps too far...then looked wounded and misunderstood when someone yelled at them. And it was always Wassa matter? and it was Can'tcha take a joke? and it was Why don'cha lighten up a little?

George Pocock learned much about the hearts and souls of young men. He learned to see hope where a boy thought there was no hope, to see skill where skill was obscured by ego or by anxiety. He observed the fragility of confidence and the redemptive power of trust.

So while you could try to act like a nitwit to soothe some dude's fragile ego, Ruti points out that this is rather self-defeating. 'You may think that playing helpless will give you a romantic edge. But actually, all it does is to weed out the egalitarian men,' she wrote.

I love you.” He pulls back to look at me, pursing his lips as he blows out a hard breath. Then his smile is monumental. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to need to hear it a lot. My ego is fragile.” I laugh, pushing away a tear. “Your ego has never been fragile.

People love getting into spats on the internet. Some people spend their whole lives doing it. The only people who object to ridicule and criticism are touchy, fragile celebrities and journalists with brittle egos who can’t cope with readers pointing out how biased and stupid they are.

But by far the worst thing we do to males—by making them feel they have to be hard—is that we leave them with very fragile egos. The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is. And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls: You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man. If you are the breadwinner in your relationship with a man, pretend that you are not, especially in public, otherwise you will emasculate him. But what if we question the premise itself: Why should a woman’s success be a threat to a man? What if we decide to simply dispose of that word—and I don’t know if there is an English word I dislike more than this—emasculation.

Well into the 1960s, the supposed threat of B-girls was used to justify excluding women from bars. Better ban an entire gender to protect those fragile male egos! Better to deny women access to a public space than have a man realize that the only way a woman would listen to his stupid work stories is if she's being paid!

I've long learned that engagin with basement-dwelling stemlords who come online looking for a fight is never a good idea - the last thing I want is to provide free entertainment for their fragile egos. If they want to blow off some steam, they can buy a gym membership or play third-person-shooter games. Like normal people.

When a man speaks assertively, people trust him: he’s confident. When a woman does it, men dislike her : she’s a bitch. It’s outrageous that women have to restrain themselves and act small for the benefit of protecting the fragile egos of chauvinists. As a matter of fact though, outspoken and bold women will only rise and win at Life no matter what.

had already acquired a performer’s ego, which is kind of like a stained-glass painting: begging to be looked at, but incredibly fragile.

The stain glass man marvels at his colors, but he doesn't know he's made of broken pieces.

Harriet was her only real friend, and they agreed on most things, but on this, they did not. According to Harriet, men were a world apart from women. They required coddling, they had fragile egos, they couldn’t allow a woman intelligence or skill if it exceeded their own. “Harriet, that’s ridiculous,” Elizabeth had argued. “Men and women are both human beings. And as humans, we’re by-products of our upbringings, victims of our lackluster educational systems, and choosers of our behaviors. In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.

But by far the worst thing we do to males—by making them feel they have to be hard—is that we leave them with very fragile egos. The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is. And then we do a much greater disservice to girls, because we raise them to cater to the fragile egos of males. We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We

You’re killing me here, gorgeous. I’m talking about how much I want to give you a screaming orgasm, and you’re laughing at me?” I grin. “Did we not just establish that my ego is fragile?

I have one condition.” I raise my eyebrows. “What’s that?” “You will not run out on me this time. If you decide you want to leave, it will be after you’ve discussed it with me first so I don’t wake up to any surprises.” “Okay,” I murmur. “Did I wound your fragile ego that badly?” I ask sarcastically. “No, you hurt my feelings, and that doesn’t happen often. I’d rather not relive it.

Do not assume that someone else’s ego can love you. It cannot. It does not even love the person it resides in. The limit of the ego’s 'love' is to decide that you are a temporary ally and thus it will protect you for the benefit of its own use. Only a soul can accept and return love. Everything else is manipulation. Fragile arrangements. They are, at best, suspicious and, at worst, vicious.

What’s insidious about the fear of what others will say is that you rarely hear them say it. You imagine what they’d say. You imagine they care that much about you. The fragility of our own egos gets the better of us

She didn't even insult me. She just didn't compliment me. This is how fragile the ego can be in connection with our creative expressions. The critic's voice is so powerful because it resonates with the voices of our deepest fears, those voices speaking from the inside of us, telling us that we are not good enough. The critics confirm our repressed and terrified suspicions that we don't measure up, that we are unsafe and unlovable.

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.

Americans have reached a point where ignorance, especially of anything related to public policy, is an actual virtue. To reject the advice of experts is to assert autonomy, a way for Americans to insulate their increasingly fragile egos from ever being told they’re wrong about anything. It is a new Declaration of Independence: no longer do we hold these truths to be self-evident, we hold all truths to be self-evident, even the ones that aren’t true.

white tears” does not refer to all pain but to the particular emotional fragility a white person experiences when they find racial stress so intolerable they become hypersensitive and defensive, focusing the stress back to their own bruised ego.

If it were an ordinary company in the old days he’d have been yelling at them by now, calling them shit-for-brains, ordering them to reach deep, find the character, torquing their emotions to the breaking point and telling them to use the resulting blood and pain, use it! But these are fragile egos. Some have taken anger management therapy, so yelling by him would set a bad example. For others, depression is never far. Push them too much and they’ll collapse. They’ll give up, even his key players. They’ll walk out. It’s happened before.

But there is some connection between critically distancing oneself from prevailing popular opinion and a level of moral conscientiousness that comes to more than obeying the voice of "the Anyone." Crucial to genuine moral conscience is the refusal to lose oneself in the anonymity of what "the Anyone" dictates, a willingness to take one's stand aqainst what is fashionable, to criticize public opinion for the sake of the community, to judge what is right beyond the horizon of the taken-for-granted. That one think for oneself, of course, is no guarantee that one's judgement will be wise. If not thinking can lead to great evil, it does not follow that thinking can prevent it. But at least the habit of critical reflection puts an obstacle in the way of banal evil, for the thoughtful individual may have afterthoughts about saying or doing what he cannot account for. Moral conscience, Arendt contends, is a 'side-effect' of the thinking ego, of the self who would, like Socrates, prefer that 'the multitudes disagree with me than that I, being one, should be out of harmony with and contradict myself.

We must come to terms with being of no cosmic significance, and this means jettisoning our personal and collective egos and valuing what we have. We can no longer assume the platform of gods, or dream of a unique place in their hearts. Science has forced us to look fixedly into an infinite universe, and its volume dilutes special pleading to a vanishingly small and pathetic whimper. And yet what’s left is better. No monument to the gods is as magnificent as the story of our planet; of the origin and evolution of life on the rare Earth and the rise of a fledgling civilisation taking its first steps into the dark. We stand related to every one of Darwin’s endless, most beautiful forms, each of us connected at some branch in the unbroken chain of life stretching back 4 billion years. We share more in common with bacteria than we do with any living things out there amongst the stars, should they exist, and they are more worthy of our attention. Build cathedrals in praise of bacteria; we are on our own, and as the dominant intellect we are responsible for our planet in its magnificent and fragile entirety.

The cost to my body of coddling a scary, angry, fragile ego—coddling it to make sure it does not attack or abandon—is so great that I actually cannot do this kind of coddling any longer. I realize I have been doing it instinctively for a long time. If you harm someone and then make it so that they feel afraid to tell you about it, be aware that women are likely coddling you constantly day in and day out in ways that exhaust them and that you take as normal and do not even notice. If you do this as a white person to people of color, be aware of the same.

I’ve learned that power is not bad, but the abuse of power or using power over others is the opposite of courage; it’s a desperate attempt to maintain a very fragile ego. It’s the desperate scramble of self-worth quicksand. When people are hateful or cruel or just being assholes, they’re showing us exactly what they’re afraid of. Understanding their motivation doesn’t make their behavior less difficult to bear, but it does give us choices. And subjecting ourselves to that behavior by choice doesn’t make us tough—it’s a sign of our own lack of self-worth.

Donald’s need for affirmation is so great that he doesn’t seem to notice that the largest group of his supporters are people he wouldn’t condescend to be seen with outside of a rally. His deep-seated insecurities have created in him a black hole of need that constantly requires the light of compliments that disappears as soon as he’s soaked it in. Nothing is ever enough. This is far beyond garden-variety narcissism; Donald is not simply weak, his ego is a fragile thing that must be bolstered every moment because he knows deep down that he is nothing of what he claims to be. He knows he has never been loved.

Donald is not simply weak, his ego is a fragile thing that must be bolstered every moment because he knows deep down that he is nothing of what he claims to be. He knows he has never been loved. So he must draw you in if he can by getting you to assent to even the most seemingly insignificant thing: “Isn’t this plane great?” “Yes, Donald, this plane is great.” It would be rude to begrudge him that small concession. Then he makes his vulnerabilities and insecurities your responsibility: you must assuage them, you must take care of him. Failing to do so leaves a vacuum that is unbearable for him to withstand for long. If you’re someone who cares about his approval, you’ll say anything to retain it. He has suffered mightily, and if you aren’t doing all you can to alleviate that suffering, you should suffer, too.

We do a great disservice to boys in how we raise them. We stifle the humanity of boys. We define masculinity in a very narrow way. Masculinity is a hard, small cage, and we put boys inside this cage. We teach boys to be afraid of fear, of weakness, of vulnerability. We teach them to mask their true selves, because they have to be, in Nigerian-speak—a hard man. Of course, because of their historical advantage, it is mostly men who will have more today. But if we start raising children differently, then in fifty years, in a hundred years, boys will no longer have the pressure of proving their masculinity by material means. But by far the worst thing we do to males—by making them feel they have to be hard—is that we leave them with very fragile egos. The harder a man feels compelled to be, the weaker his ego is.

disruption, which posits that at some point in time, every industry will be disrupted by some trend or innovation that, despite all the resources in the world, the incumbent interests will be incapable of responding to. Why is this? Why can’t businesses change and adapt? A large part of it is because they lost the ability to learn. They stopped being students. The second this happens to you, your knowledge becomes fragile.

But whether people cultivate an exterior meant to signal their politics, or they cultivate, instead, a strait-laced appearance that does not signal their politics, their self-presentation is deliberate. It is meant to reinforce who they are (who they consider themselves to be). People tell themselves, strenuously, that they believe in this or that political position, whether it is to do with wealth distribution or climate policy or the rights of animals. They commit to some plan, whether it is to stop old-growth logging, or protest nuclear power, or block a shipping port in order to bring capitalism, or at least logistics, to its knees. But the deeper motivation for their rhetoric—the values they promote, the lifestyle they have chosen, the look they present—is to shore up their own identity. It is natural to attempt to reinforce identity, given how fragile people are underneath these identities they present to the world as “themselves.” Their stridencies are fragile, while their need to protect their ego, and what forms that ego, is strong.

Donald’s need for affirmation is so great that he doesn’t seem to notice that the largest group of his supporters are people he wouldn’t condescend to be seen with outside of a rally. His deep-seated insecurities have created in him a black hole of need that constantly requires the light of compliments that disappears as soon as he’s soaked it in. Nothing is ever enough. This is far beyond garden-variety narcissism; Donald is not simply weak, his ego is a fragile thing that must be bolstered every moment because he knows deep down that he is nothing of what he claims to be. He knows he has never been loved. So he must draw you in if he can by getting you to assent to even the most seemingly insignificant thing: “Isn’t this plane great?” “Yes, Donald, this plane is great.” It would be rude to begrudge him that small concession. Then he makes his vulnerabilities and insecurities your responsibility: you must assuage them, you must take care of him. Failing to do so leaves a vacuum that is unbearable for him to withstand for long. If you’re someone who cares about his approval, you’ll say anything to retain it. He has suffered mightily, and if you aren’t doing all you can to alleviate that suffering, you should suffer, too.

You say respect my elders, but what you mean is respecting my betters, is that not right? Are you so full of your own arrogance that you need me to bow and kowtow to you like some throwback fledgling? Or perhaps we should reinstate the role of concubines in our society. Then you may have the pleasure of claiming me and forcing me to fall to my knees, bowing low in respect of your masculine eminence!” Gideon watched as she did just that, her gown billowing around her as she gracefully kneeled before him, so close to him that her knees touched the tips of his boots. She swept her hands to her sides, bowing her head until her forehead brushed the leather, her hair spilling like reams of heavy silk around his ankles. The Ancient found himself unusually speechless, the strangest sensation creeping through him as he looked down at the exposed nape of her neck, the elegant line of her back. Unable to curb the impulse, Gideon lowered himself into a crouch, reaching beneath the cloak of coffee-colored hair to touch her flushed cheek. The heat of her anger radiated against his touch and he recognized it long before she turned her face up to him. “Does this satisfy you, my lord Gideon?” she whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing like flinted steel and hard jade. Gideon found himself searching her face intently, his eyes roaming over the high, aristocratic curves of her cheekbones, the amazingly full sculpture of her lips, the wide, accusing eyes that lay behind extraordinarily thick lashes. He cupped her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, his fingertips fanning softly over her angrily flushed cheek. “You do enjoy mocking me,” he murmured softly to her, the breath of his words close enough to skim across her face. “No more than you seem to enjoy condescending to me,” she replied, her clipped words coming out on quick, heated breaths. Gideon absorbed this latest venom with a blink of lengthy lashes. They kept their gazes locked, each seemingly waiting for the other to look away. “You have never forgiven me,” he said suddenly, softly. “Forgiven you?” She laughed bitterly. “Gideon, you are not important enough to earn my forgiveness.” “Is your ego so fragile, Legna, that a small slight to it is irreparable?” “Stop talking to me as if I were a temperamental child!” Legna hissed, moving to jerk her head back but finding his grip quite secure. “There was nothing slight about the way you treated me. I will never forget it, and I most certainly will never forget it!

To be sure, like the rest of race, whiteness is a fiction, what in the jargon of the academy is termed a social construct, an agreed-on myth that has empirical grit because of its effect, not its essence. But whiteness goes even one better: it is a category of identity that is most useful when its very existence is denied. That’s its twisted genius. Whiteness embodies Charles Baudelaire’s admonition that “the loveliest trick of the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.” Or, as an alter ego of the character Keyser Söze says in the film The Usual Suspects, “The greatest trick the devil ever played was to convince the world that he didn’t exist.” The Devil. Racism. Another metaphor. Same difference.

The male narcissist is a misogynist, holding women in complete contempt. Here you are being tormented, and your compliance with this request [ because by now you know the silent treatment will follow if you don’t ] is just another example of his control over you. At the end of the day you are merely an object, a source of his narcissistic supply discussed earlier, giving him another ‘fix’ to his fragile ego. Attention procured from fellow male diners at the next outing will only serve to inflate his delusional feeling of superiority over others, and bear in mind the attention is for his benefit, not yours. Women present will no doubt take a different perspective from their temporarily distracted partners looking on with tongues hanging out. Along the lines ‘poor woman, if that’s how she’s made to dress. I’ll bet her life must be hell. What a prick’. His demands, always phrased as though in your favour continue unabated. ‘Why don’t you just pack in your job? It’s not as if we need the money. We can live comfortably off my salary. Think of all the extra time we can have together, and less pressure on you’. Awwww, this man is all heart. Well, he does need a cleaner, that’s for sure, as describing the place as untidy would be an understatement. As for employing a gardener! Forget it. Guess who will be spending the summer months breaking her back weeding and edging? Narcissists deem such jobs trivial and beneath them. These tasks were designed for inferior people.

Christian art understands that images are important partly because they can generate compassion, the fragile quality which enables the boundaries of our egos to dissolve, helps us to recognize ourselves in the experiences of strangers and can make their pain matter to us as much as our own. Art has a role to play in this manoeuvre of the mind upon which, not coincidentally, civilization itself is founded, because the unsympathetic assessments we make of others are usually the result of nothing more sinister than our habit of looking at them in the wrong way, through lenses clouded by distraction, exhaustion and fear, which blind us to the fact that they are really, despite a thousand differences, just altered versions of ourselves: fellow fragile, uncertain, flawed beings likewise craving love and in urgent need of forgiveness. As if to reinforce the idea that to be human is, above all else, to partake in a common vulnerability to misfortune, disease and violence, Christian art returns us relentlessly to the flesh, whether in the form of the infant Jesus’s plump cheeks or of the taut, broken skin over his ribcage in his final hours. The message is clear: even if we do not bleed to death on a cross, simply by virtue of being human we will each of us suffer our share of agony and indignity, each face appalling, intractable realities which may nevertheless kindle in us feelings of mutuality. Christianity hints that if our bodies were immune to pain or decay, we would be monsters.

So many people now call themselves 'students of the University of life' as if experience theorized with lack of knowledge led to any wisdom or even less, such as the capacity to think and process information outside personal validation models. It's very easy to explain what you see. It's what humanity has done throughout history. However, real education ends in the last book you finished. And you can evaluate yourself by the amount of books you were able to read, understand and appreciate. Anything below that can only lead one to be certified in stupidity. And that's what the 'students of life' really are; fragile egos trying to justify their stupidity with arrogance, crystalizing their state of ignorance in time with pride. Because, even though humanity has confused itself with its own mechanics, the transitory fact remains, that knowledge, in any shape or form, comes from books. And more than 99% of all the books ever produced in human history are now, thanks to internet, available for free, in the public domain, and wherever a computer and electricity are present. This truth also extensively contributes to the fact, that humans are now, for the first time ever, deliberately choosing to remain ignorant. And that's what the "students of life" are; proud manifestos of ignorance. They don't know that, if you read enough to be smart, you're too smart to explain what you read, and too busy to share it. So what can we then say about the ones who obsess over their physical appearance whenever they have time for something. The premise is self-explanatory: The only real student is the 'student of self'.

Minutes later, as they lay tangled together, dazed in the aftermath of their loving, Callie began to chuckle silently against Gabriel's side. Lifting his head to find her grinning a wide, silly grin, he drawled, "What is it that has you so amused, lovely?" "I was simply thinking"- she stopped to catch her breath from the laughter and started again- "I was merely thinking that if that is what riding astride is like, the female population is missing out on one of life's finer experiences." The last word was lost as she dissolved once more onto giggles. He caught her against him in a fierce hug and sighed, unable to keep himself from smiling up at the ceiling as he said, "You know, Empress, men do not appreciate laughter at this particular moment. It's devastating to the self-confidence." Her head snapped up and she took in his amused countenance. "Oh, my apologies, good sir," she teased. "I would hate to damage such a fragile ego as that of the Marquess of Ralston." With a playful growl, he pinned her to the mattress. "Minx. You shall pay for that." And he began to kiss down the side of her neck, nibbling across her collarbone until she sighed with pleasure. "If this is how I must pay for it, my lord, you may guarantee I shall tease you a great deal in the coming months." "More than months, I hope," he drawled, distracted by her lovely white breasts. "Years. Decades even." "Decades," she repeated, awestruck. My God. He's going to be my husband. "Mmm-hmm," he murmured against her skin before pulling away from her. "Which is why, despite how very difficult it shall be for me to leave you warm and lush in your bed, I shall console myself with the fact that, very soon, I shan't have to do so ever again.

What type of person would want to give out tickets and bust people’s balls for a living? Answer: bullies and jerks and guys with little man syndrome who needed to boost their fragile egos by pushing people around. But Jack wasn’t like that. She was a decent cop, and a decent person.

It’s a scary thing, you know, being a man. We always have to run the risk of inviting someone out and being turned down flat. You women don’t realize how fragile our egos are.

I know he's upset about not being able to protect me, but I also know that part of why he's upset is because his pride was injured, and that has nothing to do with me. Is a boy's ego really such a fragile, breakable thing? It must be so.

As soon as the adult serial killer’s fragile ego and self-esteem are threatened by any form of rejection or pain, the original childhood agony is triggered and he feels the irresistible urge to act out this powerful fantasy, which is the only way

As soon as the adult serial killer’s fragile ego and self-esteem are threatened by any form of rejection or pain, the original childhood agony is triggered and he feels the irresistible urge to act out this powerful fantasy, which is the only way he perceives to restore the psychological imbalance.

So many people now call themselves 'students of the University of life' as if experience theorized with lack of knowledge led to any wisdom or even less, such as the capacity to think and process information outside personal validation models. It's very easy to explain what you see. It's what humanity has done throughout history. However, real education ends in the last book you finished. And you can evaluate yourself by the amount of books you were able to read, understand and appreciate. Anything below that can only lead one to be certified in stupidity. And that's what the 'students of life' really are; fragile egos trying to justify their stupidity with arrogance, crystalizing their state of ignorance in time with pride. Because, even though humanity has confused itself with its own mechanics, the transitory fact remains, that knowledge, in any shape or form, comes from books. And more than 99% of all the books ever produced in human history are now, thanks to internet, available for free, in the public domain, and wherever a computer and electricity are present. This truth also extensively contributes to the fact, that humans are now, for the first time ever, deliberately choosing to remain ignorant. And that's what the "students of life" are; proud manifestos of ignorance. They don't know that, if you read enough to be smart, you're too smart to explain what you read, and too busy to share it. So what can we then say about the ones who obsess over their physical appearance whenever they have time for something? The premise is self-explanatory: The only real student is the 'student of self'.

Do not fear the divine when it comes knocking upon your soul. It may appear as the smiling face of a friend, the fleeting embrace of a lover, dear buds in bloom, the child that smiles as you pass by and the hurricane, that piece by fragile piece, rips apart doors and windows of your ego. No, do not fear the divine, my friend. The faces are much too numerous to recognize. Offer a crust of bread, your bed, a moment of your time, a tear. Walk forward into the fire.

Che cos’ho fatto perché mi odiasse in quel modo?” “Alcuni non riescono a gestire il rifiuto, così trasformano in odio tutto quello che provano. È più facile che dover affrontare il dolore e poi andare avanti. Se ti odiano, allora loro hanno ragione e tu hai torto. È facile vedere le cose in questo modo, così non devono affrontare il fatto che potrebbe essere stata colpa loro. È un meccanismo di difesa.” La spiegazione di Aaron sembrava abbastanza razionale. “E alcuni sono semplicemente degli stronzi. Direbbero qualsiasi cosa pur di ferire qualcun altro e proteggere il loro fragile ego. Se fossi in te, metterei James nella seconda categoria.” Terry non riuscì a trattenere un sorriso, per quanto fugace. “Grazie.” “Di niente.” Aaron ricambiò velocemente il suo sorriso

I have stood outside and observed, and have had difficulty in the past with accepting, but have come to terms with the reality that swallows the majority of my peers and others of my generation. One that prefers simulation over substance, transforming them into a faceless crowd that willingly steps into a grinder which rewards sly words and the use of handshakes with titles and legitimacy – while deep down there is a void, power struggles that result from early feelings of inferiority, that unceasingly feeds off their fragile and undiscovered self and replaces it with an inflated ego. I must accept that the root of most beings is a yearning for the inner-child to be caressed and comforted, and yet it is directly because of this contrast that it is ever so clear what lies in those higher beings, those who have overcome not only others but themselves, because it is they who have reached a plateau that endows them with a much greater responsibility and ethic – through doing, being, and creation, their goal is the betterment and widening of perspective of their fellow human beings. It is through them, we become authentic.

I have stood outside and observed, and have had difficulty in the past with acceptance but have come to terms with the reality that swallows the majority of my peers and others of my generation, one that prefers simulation over substance, a faceless crowd that willingly steps into a grinder that rewards the sly use of words and handshakes with titles and legitimacy – while deep down is a void, brought on by early feelings of inferiority, that unceasingly feeds off their fragile and undiscovered Self and replaces it with an inflated ego. I must accept that the root of most beings is a yearning for the inner-child to be caressed and comforted, and by contrast, it is ever so clear that lies in the higher beings, those who have overcome not only others but themselves, hold a much greater responsibility and ethic – to do, say, and create for the betterment and widening of perspective of their fellow human beings.

I have stood outside and observed, and have had difficulty in the past with accepting, but have come to terms with the reality that swallows the majority of my peers and others of my generation. One that prefers simulation over substance. A faceless crowd that willingly steps into a grinder which rewards the sly words and the use of handshakes with titles and legitimacy – while deep down there is a void, brought on by early feelings of inferiority, that unceasingly feeds off their fragile and undiscovered self and replaces it with an inflated ego. I must accept that the root of most beings is a yearning for the inner-child to be caressed and comforted, and yet it is directly because of this contrast, that it is ever so clear what lies in those higher beings, those who have overcome not only others but themselves, because it is they who have reached a plateau that endows them with a much greater responsibility and ethic – to do, say, and create for the betterment and widening of perspective of their fellow human beings.

I have stood outside and observed, and have had difficulty in the past with accepting, but have come to terms with the reality that swallows the majority of my peers and others of my generation. A generation that prefers simulation over substance. A faceless crowd that willingly steps into a grinder which rewards sly words and the use of handshakes with titles and legitimacy – while deep down there is a void, brought on by early feelings of inferiority, that unceasingly feeds off their fragile and undiscovered self and replaces it with an inflated ego. I must accept that the root of most beings is a yearning for the inner-child to be caressed and comforted, and yet it is directly because of this contrast, that it is ever so clear what lies in those higher beings, those who have overcome not only others but themselves, because it is they who have reached a plateau that endows them with a much greater responsibility and ethic – to do, say, and create for the betterment and widening of perspective of their fellow human beings.