Quotes About Emotion

It has been calculated, and goodness knows how, it must be said, that during the course of a lifetime the heart does an amount of work sufficient a one ton object 150 miles into the air. It is a truly remarkable implement. It just doesn't care about your love life.

The liver was long thought to be the seat of courage, which is why a cowardly person was deemed "lily-livered.

All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence. A sanctimonious, sneering one-liner, no matter how bogus, is seen as straight talk, while a calm, well-argued response is seen as canned and phony.

Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We're using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. The media knows what sells—conflict and division. It's also quick and easy. All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence.

My questioner is not the least bit deterred by the insults I've hurled. He is undoubtedly encouraged by the fact that his questions have now firmly found their place under my skin. He is looking at his notes again, at his flowchart of questions and follow-ups, while I try to calm myself.

But what is it that drives haters crazy with rage? Many times, it's being ignored. To a person with pride, being ignored is often worse than out-and-out hate; it's that much more of an insult, that you're not even worth noticing.

We learn to make a shell for ourselves when we are young and then spend the rest of our lives hoping for someone to reach inside and touch us. Just touch us—anything more than that would be too much for us to bear.

I'm crying because out there he's gone, but he's not gone inside me.

There's a sort of jet lag when you time-travel to your own past.

One thing I have finally gotten through my thick skull: Anyone looking for love is also looking for trouble.

Eres la mujer a la que no puedo ignorar

Love is like a faucet: it turns on and off.

If you find a tune and it's got something to do with you, you don't have to evolve anything. You just feel it, and when you sing it other people can feel something too.

When I sing it, it affects me so much I get sick. It takes all the strength out of me.

Everyone's got to be different. You can't copy anybody and end up with anything. If you copy, it means you're working without any real feeling. And without feeling, whatever you do amounts to nothing. No two people on earth are alike, and it's got to be that way in music or it isn't music.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war. No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

And the reason I am writing this on the back of a manila envelope now that they have left the train together is to tell you that when she turned to lift the large, delicate cello onto the overhead rack, I saw him looking up at her and what she was doing the way the eyes of saints are painted when they are looking up at God when he is doing something remarkable, something that identifies him as God.

Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield.

I use music as some kind of weird salvation to get away from life

Pink ribbon scars That never forget I've tried so hard To cleanse these regrets My angel wings Were bruised and restrained My belly stings

music it says all the things that words alone can never say

It didn't matter that I felt like a fool 'cause I forgot when she walked through the door.

I think music in itself is healing. It's an explosive expression of humanity. It's something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music.

For we are always what our situations hand us: it's either sadness or euphoria.