Quotes About Emotion

This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.

The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind cooly as a tree or a flower.

That's tough, Joan, I said, picking up my book. Because I don't like you. You make me puke, if you want to know.

I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in e like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

And when the balled Pulp of your heart Confronts its small Mill of silence How you jump—

I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

I am too pure for you or anyone. Your body Hurts me as the world hurts God.

What does a woman see in a woman that she can't see in a man?" Doctor Nolan paused. Then she said, "Tenderness." That shut me up.

I said maybe if you loved a woman it wouldn't seem so boring, but Eric said it would be spoiled by thinking this woman too was just an animal like the rest, so if he loved anybody he would never go to bed with her. He'd go to a whore if he had to and keep the woman he loved free from all the dirty business.

A small, answering point in my own body flew towards it. I felt my lungs inflate with the inrush of scenery -- air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, This is what it is to be happy.

The day I went into physics class is was death.

I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly our of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

A small, answering point in my own body flew toward it. I felt my lungs inflate with the inrush of scenery- air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, This is what it is to be happy.

The balled Pulp of your heart Confronts its small Mill of silence

Era demasiado tarde y su rostro se tornó más nítido, amoroso, como si yo estuviera lista.

And he walked off down the path with his jaunty, independent stride. And I stood there where he left me, tremulous with love and longing, weeping in the dark. That night it was hard to get to sleep.

Yo lo recordaba todo. (...) Quizá el olvido, como una bondadosa nieve, los entumeciera y los cubriera. Pero eran parte de mí. Eran m paisaje.

She looked loving and reproachful, and I wanted her to go away.

What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love?

What love did then, love does now: Gnaws me through.

If I could bleed, or sleep! If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

I tried to think what I had loved knives for, but my mind slipped from the noose of the thought and swung, like a bird, in the center of empty air.

I know I'll always think of you with something like hurt and nostalgia— — from a letter to Ann Davdiow-Goodman, written 1951

By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.