A Quote by Maj Sjowall

You get tough when you grow up unloved. People described me as a boyish girl - rather shy, but I didn't show it. I had an attitude. I was rather wild. I lied a lot because I knew the alternative was to be punished. As I got older I realised I didn't have to lie any more and it was a nice feeling. I could be myself.
I did a lot of little girl groups here and there just to get more comfortable on stage. When you're in girl groups, it's a lot different because if you mess up, there's someone on stage to back you up, and finally I got to a point where I knew I could do it on my own.
I had to lie so much about sex, first when I was 15, because I wasn't supposed to be having it. And then when I got older, I lied to everybody I was having sex with, so I could have sex with other people.
I don't go out of my way to get noticed. When I'm in Scotland it's tough, because loads of people come up to me. They're always really polite. It's nice, it's fun and good to speak to people who aren't involved in tennis, but some have this habit of just staring at me and that makes me really self-conscious. I'd rather they came up and said hello.
If I like a person, I don't have any mask/filter. I will open up a lot. I had hurt myself in the past because a couple of persons took advantage of me. I realised that they are not genuine people. Since then, I take time to open myself up for new people.
As I got older, I realised fake tan was rather messy and I wanted to look cleaner, classier and more demure.
Doing 'All Good Things' really felt like I was acting for myself rather than anyone else. It gave me a freedom I'd never had before, or knew I had, to do whatever I want to, and to argue my opinions and not just feel like the cute girl on set or the girl in a boy's club. I figured out how I could be both. And it's been different ever since.
When I got older, it got harder because when kids get older, they get meaner, so I went through a lot of bullying and people calling me, like, 'zebra' or 'cow,' so it was really hard growing up.
I got more shy as I got older and realized people could be laughing at me or judging me.
I was a shy little kid, and getting up in front of people and making them laugh and being able to carry on a dialogue rather than a monologue was something that was pretty interesting to me because you could set yourself up - you could ask a question and then answer it.
I'm just concerned that if I get older, people aren't going to enjoy me as much as when I was younger, because I had a great voice for a little girl, but I mean, my voice can't get any bigger when I'm older.
As no one knew much about my mental illness, a lot of people had the attitude that I had the capability to 'kick it' and get better instantly. This was the most frustrating attitude for me.
I used to say to myself when I was seven years old that I couldn't wait to get older so I could make money and buy my own clothes. I had a lot of sisters, so as we got older the hand-me-downs got better, but it wasn't until I was about 15 that I was able to buy my own stuff.
When I was little, I had a feeling that I was going to end up being an actress. I spent a lot of time alone, I was a very shy girl, and I would pretend I was telling someone about this new role that I got.
Acting tough is all about developing an attitude and a persona that says, 'Look at how great I am.' But often, that tough exterior is meant to hide self-doubt. Mentally strong people invest more energy into working on their weaknesses rather than trying to cover them up.
I used to think that when I got older, the world would make so much more sense. But you know what? The older I get, the more confusing it is to me. The more complicated it is. Harder. You’d think we’d be getting better at it. But there’s just more and more chaos. The pieces—they’re everywhere. And nobody knows what to do about it. I find myself grasping, Nick. You know that feeling? That feeling when you just want the right thing to fall into the right place, not only because it’s right, but because it will mean that such a thing is still possible? I want to believe in that.
It’s funny—when people call you “shy,” they usually smile. Like it’s cute, some funny little habit you’ll grow out of when you’re older, like the gaps in your grin when your baby teeth fall out. If they knew how it felt—really being shy, not just unsure at first—they wouldn’t smile. Not if they knew how the feeling knots up your stomach or makes your palms sweat or robs you of the ability to say anything that makes sense. It’s not cute at all.
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