Quotes About Emotion

Memory is not so brilliant as hope, but it is more beautiful, and a thousand times as true.

Sick I am of idle words, past all reconciling, Words that weary and perplex and pander and conceal, Wake the sounds that cannot lie, for all their sweet beguiling; The language one need fathom not, but only hear and feel.

The sign of the poet, then, is that by passion he enters into life more than other men. That is the gift-the power to live....[Poets] have been singularly creatures of passion. They lived before they sang. Emotion is the condition of their existence; passion is the element of their being; and, moreover, the intensifying power of such a state of passion is also must be remembered, for emotion of itself naturally heightens all the faculties, and genius burns the brighter in its own flames.

Love does not mean the abandonment of justice and right; nor is it a sentimental benevolence which does not have the capacity for holy wrath.

A suppressed resolve will betray itself in the eyes.

Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face.

And he could glance at her continually as she bent over the fruit, while the level evening sunbeams stole through the thick apple-tree boughs and rested on her round cheek and neck as if they too were in love with her.

There's no disappointment in memory, and one's exaggerations are always on the good side.

She thinks your lady-love will rule you as the moon rules the tides.

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.

Washington DC is happiest when in indignation overdrive.

Grant me some wild expressions, Heavens, or I shall burst.

Galvanized people can do careless things. It is in the extreme and emotion-laden moments that distance and coolness are most required. I am tempted to howl in rage. It is not my place to do so. My job is to try to dissect the event, place it in context and try to understand what has happened and why. From that, after the rage cools, plans for action can be made. Rage has its place, but actions must be taken with discipline and thought.

William's eyes glowed like two amber coals. She met his gaze and flinched. No emotion reflected in the amber, only intelligence, cruel in a way the eyes of a hunting Mire cat were cruel. She saw no worry, no softness, no thoughts at all, only waiting. He seemed barely human now, not a man but some feral thing, knitted of darkness and biding his time for an opportunity to pounce.

Love makes you helpless," Daniela said. "You think about the object of your affection all the time. Your happiness or misery depends on another person's mood. You give up all power over yourself, hand it to the person you love, and trust that they will be gentle with it.

I missed you," he said, his lips stretching into a slow, lazy smile. The ice in his eyes began to melt. "Did you miss me, Nevada?" He said my name. "No." "Not even a little bit?" "No. Never thought of you." Just because I usually chose not to lie didn't mean I couldn't. Rogan grinned and all of my thoughts went to the wrong places. He was almost unbearably handsome when he smiled.

What happened? I asked quietly. I lost some people, [Rogan] said. There was an awful finality in his voice. I hadn't thought he cared. I'd thought he viewed his people as tools and took care of them because tools had to be kept in good repair, but this sounded like genuine grief — that complicated cocktail of guilt, regret, and overwhelming sadness you felt when someone close to you died. It broke you and made you feel helpess. Helpless wasn't even in Rogan's vocabulary.

When I first saw you, it was like being thrown from a shuttle before it touched the ground. I fell and when I landed, I felt it in every cell of my body. You disturbed me. You took away my inner peace…

He smiled at me, turning into the old Sean Evans. The transformation was so sudden, I blinked to make sure I didn't imagine it. "Because you're a carebear.

No offense, right. "No offense" stood for "I'm going to insult you, but you can't be mad at me.

Teddy bear looked like he was suffering from murder withdrawal.

A fully human Derek stood right in front of me. His eyes were aglow, and he looked at me as if I were the thing he wanted most in the entire world.

Vicki," he said. "Baby . . ." "Don't you call me that, you horrible shithead!

He focused on me completely, the same way he did when he asked me a question and waited for an answer. It was almost impossible to look away. If he ever fell in love—which probably wasn't possible, given that he was likely a psychopath—his would be the kind of devotion people fantasized about.