Quotes About Emotion

I don't smile. My smiles don't make people relax.

I loved him. I hadn't wanted to, but I did, and it was too late to change because once my heart went somewhere, I couldn't pull it back. It's a glitch in my wiring.

When you refuse to think about an issue, it remains unchanged, in precisely the same state as you tucked it away." "Precisely the point of boxing it. The issue dies. Can no longer affect you. It's a damned effective tactic." "Short-term yes. Long-term, a recipe for disaster. When you next encounter whatever you boxed your feeling about, you're ambushed by repressed, unresolved emotion.

Only humans kill with hate. When you kill, you must kill like an animal.

Él. Lélegzem. Akarom. ?t. Mindig. T?z a fagyosságomra. Jég a tüzemre.

She loved him. She'd said it. Of course she'd shouted it at him, but a man could deal with that when the woman loved him more than the whole world was big. He laughed exultantly, turned sharply on his heel, and hurried off to catch her. And to tell her that, since he was bigger, he was fair certain he loved her more.

The most confused we ever get is when we're trying to convince our heads of something our heart knows is a lie.

Quod not cogit amor? (Is there anything love couldn't make us do?)

Love. You can only be broken without it.

You weep for me, woman?

And, although you think the memory of the battle won will be a pleasure—if it is a pleasure, you've lost the war.

The heart has its own mind, measures its own time, and if it consults with the brain, doesn't always heed the advice. My brain was screaming—stop hurting already. To a deaf audience.

I resent being cued. It makes me not want to know.

Mi ez a haslánc? – Úgy t?nt, különösen szereti Å'ket. – Amikor hátulról szeretkezem veled, azzal húzlak közelebb magamhoz, és hatolok még mélyebbre. Kinyitottam, majd becsuktam a szám. Én voltam olyan hülye, hogy megkérdezem.

I always want you, Chloe-lass," he murmured suddenly in a low voice, for her ears only. "There's no' a moment that I doona.

He touches my face. There is something different in his touch. It feels like he's saying good-bye, and I know a moment of panic. But my dream sky darkens and sleep's moon fills the horizon. "Don't leave me." I thrash in the sheets. "I'm not, Mac." I know I am dreaming then, because dreams are home to the absurd and what he says next is beyond absurd. "You're leaving me, Rainbow Girl.

Ahhhh! I fucking hate that phrase. I don't make love. I fuck. That's it. Plain and simple. Fuck. Clearly defined. No strings attached. As in rut and grunt and get my rocks off. I'm the caveman. I'm the sexual barbarian.

One day you may kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence.

I didn't say I didn't like you. 'Like' is such a puerile word. Mediocre people like things. The only question of any significant emotive content is: Can you live without it?

Seni onunla yine Silvers'daki gibi yatakta görürsem onu öldürürüm.

I have no desire to sleep with you. I want to fuck you. And there is no such thing as perfectly good sex. If it's 'perfectly good,' 

Joy, that elusive, priceless commodity, was once again his.

She had an inner fire that begged provoking, just for the pleasure of watching it burn. Right.

This close to him I must bite my tongue to prevent myself from moaning with need. This close to him I feel like an animal.