Quotes About Emotion

You were at the age where you could fall in love with a girl over an expression, over a gesture.

Behind every great hatred is a love story.

The sadness you feel is not your own. It's his sadness you feel in your heart, Amy, for missing you.

There exists for each of us a geographical fulcrum, a place so saturated with memory that within its precinct the past is always present.

Just ten minutes, but everything was different now. He was different, the world was different. His father was nowhere in it. And with that, tears came to his eyes.

That's what love was, he decided. Love was being known.

They say that the moment your life appears before your eyes will be your last, but I'm here to say that it's not so very different when you kiss a woman like Kate, whoever your Kate may be.

It was love, and only love, that opened your eyes.

The story was never the story, and it surprised you, how much another person could carry.

It wasn't a small thing, to love a person.

so sad she couldn't even cry.

Grief was a place, Sara understood, where a person went alone.

It's love that enslaves us.

To know and be known: that was the final desire, the heart of love.

I should think it a wonderful thing to be missed, the way that I miss him.

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. —PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

All things fell into the past but one; and what that was, was love.

I wanted to kill them. No, not kill. "Kill" is too dull a word for that which I desired. I wanted to annihilate them. I wanted to tear them limb from limb. I wanted to crack their bones and bury my face in the wet remains. I wanted to reach inside their chests and yank out their hearts and devour the bloody meat as the last stray current twitched the muscle and watch their faces as they died.

An unanticipated longing washed over him; how he wished his father were here. For weeks he had kept this feeling at bay. Holding his son in his arms, he could no longer. Tears poured from his eyes.

Loving their boy was just another way of loving each other.

Something irrevocable had happened, beyond knowing. He looked down at the body. He had felt her soul leaving her. It had brushed him like a breeze, only a breeze that was inside him, made of words. Thank you, thank you. I am free.

Hunger is a reliable feeling; it had a simplicity love or grief did not.

I discovered to my relief and delight that it "was" a gun in his pocket.

Death is death. Whether you die smiling or with tears in your eyes, it amounts to the same thing. A whole heap of nothing