Quotes About Emotion

Sich zu mögen heißt, zu entdecken, dass man dieselbe Sprache spricht. Sich zu lieben bedeutet, in derselben Sprache zu dichten.

Hört auf zu streiten, oder ich tue so, als ob ich in Ohnmacht falle. Vielleicht schreie ich auch ein bisschen.

She sighed. "Go on, say it. I shouldn't have come." "You shouldn't have come." He looked sideways at her and gave her a fleeting grin. "But I'm glad you did.

The passion I feel for you is more than you're prepared for. - Eric

In his eyes I could see the same love, the same longing. I wanted to kiss him; I wanted him to kiss me, and I could feel his longing so clearly I could not distinguish between my wanting and his. And in his arms I felt safe, warm, alive.

Love hits you when you least expect it, grabs you, sucks you in whole, and twists you around until you could hardly breathe. Love hurts like a sucker punch, that's both glorious and beautiful. Falling for Summer was like that for me, every time.

It touched me so deeply that my soul felt as if it were being torn open, rent apart by this storm of feelings.

If it is a weak fire, then the wind will be able to extinguish it. If it is a strong fire, then the wind fans its flames and further intensifies the fire. I think the relationship between separation and love is akin to that of wind and fire. False love subsides on account of separation. True love intensifies over a period of separation and smoulders like an inferno!

One of the characteristics of early modern thought was a tendency to assume binary contrasts. In an attempt to define phenomena more exactly, categories of experience that had once co-inhered were now set off against each other: faith and reason, intellect and emotion, and church and state.

We have developed a more logical and discursive mode of thought. Instead of looking at a physical phenomena imaginatively, we strip an object of all its emotive associations and concentrate on the thing itself.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.1

To die for the one you loved was an effort too sweet for words.

Terstan. Who? Who would do such a thing? He will kill him, Abramm. Just

Women prefer to draw blood using words. It can cause just as much havoc, but it doesn't stain the carpet.

Right now, Mama G's memory is like the ocean. It comes and goes, high tide and low tide. But each time, the beach erodes a little bit more.

I wish we hadn't kissed at all," he snapped. "So do I, but we can't unkiss, so we must deal with it as best as we can.

With a hoarse moan, he swept her against him, kissing her wildly, passionately, his mouth promising and teasing, as if her kiss had broken the dam that had held back his passion.

Roland was brave an romantic, and his speech imploring Lucinda to flee with him had filled Bronwyn's eyes with tears. I wish I knew a Roland. During her unpleasant season, she'd come to realise that the world was woefully short of Rolands.

Emotion and instinct were the basis of all our decisions, our actions, everything we valued, the way we saw the world. Reason and rationality were a thin coat of paint on a ragged surface.

I wasn't happy, exactly, but I was remembering how happiness felt.

The idea of our own rationality...was convincing to us only because we so wished to be convinced. To any impartial observer, could such a thing exist, the sham was patent. Emotion and instinct were the basis of all our decisions, our actions, everything we valued, the way we saw the world. Reason and rationality were a thin coat of paint on a ragged surface.

What we have instead are false memories aroused later and more pertinent to this later perspective than to the original events. Sometimes in matters of great emotion, one representation, retaining all the original intensity, comes to replace another, which is then discarded and forgotten. The new representation is called a screen memory. A screen memory is a compromise between remembering something painful and defending yourself against that very remembering.

I felt her loss in a powerfully physical way. I missed her smell and the sticky wet of her breath on my neck. I missed her fingers scratching through my hair. We sat next to each other, lay across each other, pushed, pulled, stroked, and struck each other a hundred times a day and I suffered the deprivation of this. It was an ache, a hunger on the surface of my skin.

All my happiness seems caught up in one of your smiles. - Jered Mandeville, 'Upon a Wicked Time