Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“What do you call yourself?" the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had!
"I wish I knew!" thought poor Alice. She answered, rather sadly, "Nothing, just now."
"Think again," it said: "that won't do."
Alice thought, but nothing came of it. "Please, would you tell me what you call yourself?" she said timidly, "I think that might help a little."
"I'll tell you, if you'll come a little further on," the Fawn said. "I can't remember here."
So they walked on together through the wood, Alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open field, and here the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself free from Alice's arms. "I'm a Fawn!" it cried out in a voice of delight. "And dear me, you're a human child!" A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland / Through the Looking-Glass

“Fawn types seek safety by merging with the wishes, needs and demands of others. They act as if they unconsciously believe that the price of admission to any relationship is the forfeiture of all their needs, rights, preferences and boundaries. They often begin life like the precocious children described in Alice Miler’s 'The Drama Of The Gifted Child', who learn that a modicum of safety and attachment can be gained by becoming the helpful and compliant servants of their parents. They are usually the children of at least one narcissistic parent who uses contempt to press them into service- scaring and shaming them out of developing a healthy sense of self: an egoic locus of self-protection, self-care and self-compassion.”
― Pete Walker

“Tough men are tough not because they want to be tough, but because they have to be tough. Outgrow the adolescent fawning over being a tough guy, and you will become a tough man.”
― Criss Jami

“Dark-eyed, dark-haired, with smiles of enchanting archness and a step like a fawnâ€�”
― Mary Shelley

“Turning back the way she'd been heading, she scanned the surrounding area, her gaze halting on a sweet little baby deer moving toward her on wobbly legs.
"Ohhh," she almost moaned, enchanted at the sight. It was obviously very young, and not yet used to walking, or perhaps not strong enough. Rather than his legs being directly under him, they were spread out somewhat and he was staggering like a drunken fool.
"Oh, ye sweet thing," Claray cooed when it made its way directly to her and into her skirts.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf