Quotes About Emotion

That was an 'I love you' kiss.

Nothing was ever definite, but in that moment, Jill's soul had found a permanent home.

didn't ask if you loved him or even if you were in love with him. I asked if you like him.

Momma always said that a true lady never lets someone know when he's riled her; otherwise, she's giving away her power and her crown.

Oh. My. Sweet. Lord, she gasped. If every time gets more intense, we'll burn out the relationship, he said hoarsely. But what a way to go. She nestled down into the crook of his arm when he shifted his weight to one side.

need to upset Aunt Ellie. God was going to answer her prayers and give her the cabin. So why did she feel

No woman had ever made him feel so protective, yet so protected at the same time. He shifted his gaze to her lips. He had to taste them, had to claim them for his own right then, or his heart was going to jump right out of his chest and die on the floor at the ends of her cute little toes.

Nancy had taken an instant dislike to Gomber and now it was quadrupled.

I must have had a serious puppy-dog pout going

Poems, to me, do not come from ideas, they come from a series of images that you tuck away in the back of your brain. Little photographic snapshots. Then you get the major vision of the poem, which is like a giant magnet to which all these disparate little impressions fly and adhere, and there is the poem!

We live in wonder, blaze in a cycle of passion and apprehension.

I don't hate hardly ever, and when I love, I love for miles and miles. A love so big it should either be outlawed or it should have a capital and its own currency.

Love had sneaked up on us rather than bursting upon us like cannons and fireworks.

My expression froze into a polite smile. I didn't want to tell her. I wasn't ready to tell her about the kids thing. We had more important things to talk about.

love you, honey," he said, and kissed my cheek. I smirked

The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.

It was like they waited to tell each other things that had never been told before. What she had to say was terrible and afraid. But what he would tell her was so true that it would make everything all right. Maybe it was a thing that could not be spoken with words or writing. Maybe he would have to let her understand this in a different way. That was the feeling she had with him.

But all the time-no matter what she was doing-there was music.

It is music that causes the heart to broaden and the listener to grow cold with ecstasy and fright.

Sometimes this fellow's music was like little colored pieces of crystal candy, and other times it was the softest, saddest thing she had ever imagined about.

Wonderful music like this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.

Wonderful music like this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was the symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.

in her heart it didn't give her near the same feeling that music did. Nothing was really as good as music.

But the music did not come again. The tune was left broken, unfinished. And the drawn tightness she could no longer stand. She felt she must do something wild and sudden that never had been done before. She hit herself on the head with her fist, but that did not help any at all. And she began to talk aloud, although at first she paid no attention to her own words and did not know in advance what she would say.