Quotes About Emotion

Joking is a barrier between man and the world. Joking is the enemy of love and poetry.

What I love in a woman is not what she is in and for herself, but the side of herself she turns towards me, what she is for me. I love her as character in our common love story. what wuld Hamlet be without the castle at Elsinore, without Ophelia, without all the concrete situations he goes through, what would he be without the text of his part? What would be left but an empty, dumb, illusory essence?

Estoy bajo el agua y los latidos de mi corazón producen círculos en la superficie.

Hacer el amor con una mujer y dormir con una mujer son dos pasiones no sólo distintas sino casi contradictorias. El amor no se manifiesta en el deseo de acostarse con alguien (este deseo se produce en relación con una cantidad innumerable de mujeres), sino en el deseo de dormir junto a alguien (este deseo se produce en relación con una única mujer).

You are beautiful, he said, But I will have to leave you.

Love is poetry, poetry is love

He took her in his arms and lifted her up. She looked at him and he noticed only now that her eyes were full of tears. He pressed her to him. She understood that he loved her and this suddenly filled her with sadness. She felt sad that he loved her so much, and she felt like crying.

Fortunately, I read (the books) without knowing what I was in for, and the best thing that can ever happen to a reader happened to me: I loved something that, by conviction (or by my nature) I should not have loved

Jealousy is like a raging toothache. One cannot do anything when one is jealous, not even sit down. Once can only come and go. Back and forth.

There are things that can be accomplished only by violence. Physical love is unthinkable without violence.

Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

I think, therefore I am is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches. I feel, therefore I am is a truth much more universally valid, and it applies to everything that's alive.

Lucie had been many things to me: a child, a source of comfort, a balm, an escape from myself; she was literaly everything for me but a woman.

And suddenly something unforgettable occurred: suddenly she felt a desire to go to him and hear his voice, his words. If he spoke to her in a soft, deep voice her soul would take courage and rise to the surface of her body, and she would burst our crying. She would put her arms around him the way she had put her arms around the chestnut tree's thick trunk in her dream.

Yes, it's crazy.Love is either crazy or it's nothing at all.

You can't measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of words they exchange

Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says: How nice to see children running on the grass! The second tear says: How nice to be moved, together with all mankind, by children running on the grass! It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch. The brotherhood of man on earth wil be possible on a basis of kitsch.

Where are all those virtues of unreason that have shaped our idea of love?

he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love

the less her life resembled that sweetest of dreams, the more sensitive she was to its magic.

given the nature of the human couple, the love of a man and a woman is a priori inferior to that which can exist (at least in the best instances) in the love between man and dog...It is a completely selfless love.

Darkness attracted him as much as light. He knew that these days turning out the light before making love was considered laughable, and so he always left a small lamp burning over the bed. At the momemnt he penetrated sabina, however, he closed his eyes. The pleasure suffusing his body called for darkness. The darkness was pure, perfect, thoughtless, vision less; that darkness was without end, without borders; that darkness was the infinite we each carry within us.

But was it love? Was it simply the hysteria of a man who, aware deep down of his inaptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to simulate it?

Ä°nsan hiçbir ÅŸeyi, hiçbir kimseyi ciddiye alamay?nca yaÅŸamak ne kadar da hüzün verici!