Quotes About Emotion

Violence is born of the desire to escape oneself.

Love doesn't think like that. All right, it's blind as a bat--' 'Bats have radar. Yours doesn't seem to be working.

I felt a deep grief that crouched and stayed still as if it was afraid to move.

I think I fell in love with you when you were shouting at Romeo and Juliet, 'Don't touch each other!')

I took a deep breath, however, and followed my rule of never speaking frankly to women in moments of emotion. No good ever comes of this.

Once in an endless meadow, just able to peer through the tawny haze of the grass tops, the child who was myself had watched a young fox catching mice, an elegant newly minted fox, straight from the hand of God, brilliantly ruddy, with black stockings and a white-tipped brush. The fox heard and turned. I saw its intense vivid mask, its liquid amber eyes. Then it was gone. An image of such beauty and such mysterious sense. The child wept and knew himself an artist.

Only take someone's hand in a certain way, even look into their eyes in a certain way, and the world is changed forever.

I had deluded myself throughout by the idea of reviving a secret love which did not exist at all.

He was glad that he had expressed to her, however blunderingly, what he felt. He was glad that he had held her hand.

His heart ached in such a familiar way, and the very familiarity of it pained him.

I need love, I've never felt more in need of it than now. I feel so terribly terribly unhappy.

You've obviously never been in love. I have actually. And awfully . And—always—without hope—I've never had my love reciprocated ever.

Now, when she felt so deeply connected to him, they were finally estranged.

To say we were 'in love', that vague weakened phrase, cannot express it. We loved each other, we lived in each other, through each other, by each other. We were each other. Why was it such pure unadulterated pain?

The agony was of suddenly feeling herself so separate and so secret.

The unspoken words trembled in the air.

And this great love makes you both ruthless .

I adore your jealousy, especially when it's so misplaced. I expect Shakespeare wrote a sonnet about that.

Yet she knew too that she was deeply discontented and she sometimes suffered fierce feral moods of confused yearning during which it seemed to her that her whole life was a masquerade and that she was piously acting the part of a kindly affectionate serviceable woman who was just not herself.

I did love her in a way, but it was under the sign of doom.

Sentimentally and in the soul it went on for ages, it still goes on, it goes on and on.

You get so worked up and flowery! You sound as if you were quoting something all the time!

Oh what an ill fate it was that has made me love that man.

I have always attributed a great importance to eyes. How mysteriously expressive those damp orbs can be; the eyeball does not change and yet it is the window of the soul. And colour in eyes is, in its nature and inherence, quite unlike colour in any other substance. Mr Osmand had grey eyes, but his eyes were hard and speckled like Aberdeen granite, while Tommy's were clear and empty like light smoke.