I was still searching for someone to blame for my suffering. I really wanted someone to transfer my hate to, so that I could stop hating myself.

Slowly, I'm beginning to realise that what happened to me wasn't my fault, that I was taken advantage of by a group of vile, twisted men.

I wear a taint of rationing, that's all. I have the thready, ashamed look of a reduced person who assumes there is a worse reduction to come.

The consequences of seeking popularity is not only the chronic feeling of lonliness, but a desire to hide your face from the eyes of the universe.

Treat people like people. Beware of pity and patronization because in them, you can't see when you're unashamedly looking down on someone.

When you're hounded by the shame of the past, you can turn into a pretty miserable person who is always trying to measure up and please others.

I suppose that a lifetime spent hiding one's erotic truth could have a cumulative renunciatory effect. Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

I took some naked pictures the other day. I don’t feel shamed, but I do feel remorse over having to steal the whole camera to get the pictures.

Shame is like melting. You can actually feel your muscles sag and drop, as if your body is preparing you to crawl, or possibly ooze, to the nearest exit.

There is no shame in asking for help; it is one the most courageous things you’ll ever do and will lead to greater connection with those around you.

It's a pity. I don't know who he is to you... But you are disgusting. To claim you fight for his honor, when all you do is bring shame to his name.

I understood that no one could have lobbed such a stinging wad of shame out into the world without having a considerable personal reserve of it to draw on.

And I will raise up for them a plant of renown, and they shall be no more consumed with hunger in the land, neither bear the shame of the heathen any more.

Conviction says, 'My behavior was wrong.' Satan, on the other hand, floods our hearts with shame. Shame says, 'There is something wrong with me.

Shame isn't a quiet grey cloud, shame is a drowning man who claws his way on top of you, scratching and tearing your skin, pushing you under the surface.