Quotes About Emotion

I don't go off easily, but when I'm touched, it's for life. It's for life, Miss Archer, it's for life.

The past came back to her in one of those rushing waves of emotion by which persons of sensibility are visited at odd hours.

Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him.

Could one in those days feel anything with force, whether for pleasure or for pain, without feeling it as an immense little act or event of life, and as therefore taking place on a scene and in circumstances scarce at all to be separated from its own sense and impact?—so that to recover it is to recover the whole medium, the material pressure of things, and find it most marked for preservation as an aspect, even, distinguishably, a composition.

There were hours at which he almost caught himself wishing that certain of his friends would now die, that he might establish with them in this manner a connection more charming than, as it happened, it was possible to enjoy with them in life.

She took it as if the words were all she had wished; as if they brought her, gave her something that was the compensation of her case.

Mr. Longdon gave a headshake that was both sad and sharp. "It's all wrong. But YOU'RE all right!" he added in a different tone as he walked hastily away.

She stood there looking, consciously and rather seriously, at Mr. Ransom; a smile of exceeding faintness played about her lips—it was just perceptible enough to light up the native gravity of her face. It might have been likened to a thin ray of moonlight resting upon the wall of a prison.

I rushed up garret when the letter came, and tried to thank god for being so good to us, but I could only cry, and say, "I'm glad! I'm glad!" Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer? For I felt a great many in my heart.

Her laugh produced in him a momentary gloom.

Mama doesn't care for me, she said very simply. Not really. Child as she was, her little long history was in the words.

Words are loneliness.

She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately--- a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us an we in each other's arm oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks--- a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to die.

I want to get more familiar with you. I love you. I loved you when you came and sat on the bed--all that second afternoon was like warm mist--and I hear again the way you say my name--with that queer accent of yours. You arouse in me such a mixture of feelings, I don't know how to approach you. Only come to me--get closer and closer to me. It will be beautiful, I promise you.

Life's wildest moment---she kneels on the sidewalk. Everything else she does is lies, lies.

The smile was so painfully swift and fleeting that it was like the flash of a knife.

As long as that spark of passion is missing there is no human significance in the performance.

Honest criticism means nothing: what one wants is unrestrained passion, fire for fire.

I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don't find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever.

Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflame a cunt.

I saw through to the last sign and symbol, but I could not read her face. I could see only the eyes shining through, huge, fleshy-like luminous beasts, as though I were swimming behind them in the electric effluvia of her incandescent vision.

There's something depraved about screwing a woman who doesn't give a fuck about it. It heats your blood…" And then, after a moment's meditation— "Can you imagine what she'd be like if she had any feelings?

The only thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give is enough love.

I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked.