Quotes About Emotion

all that he might have felt of love in his entire life melted into a sort of ineffable radiance.

When the heart is dry, the eye is dry. On

for that great and singular movement of a heart which begins to love is a very obscure and a very sweet thing. Poor old man, with a perfectly new heart!

The light of nature was ignited in him. Unhappiness, which also possesses a clearness of vision of its own, augmented the small amount of daylight which existed in this mind.

The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves — say rather, loved in spite of ourselves.

Le pavé lui était moins dur que le cÅ"ur de sa mère.

Qu'est-ce que ton baiser? — Un lèchement de flamme

There are in this world two creatures that quiver intensely: the mother who finds her lost child and the tiger that comes on its prey. Javert had that intense quivering.

That which is terror by night is curiosity by day.

The stem, when the hand is stretched out to pluck the flower, quivers, and seems at once to shrink back, and present itself. The human body has something of this trepidation at the moment when the mysterious fingers of death are about to gather the soul.

When the eye sees black, the heart sees trouble.

In questo mondo vi sono due esseri che trasaliscono profondamente: la madre che ritrova il figlio, e la tigre che ritrova la sua preda.

porque es una cosa muy obscura y muy dulce ese grande y extraño movimiento de un corazón que se pone a amar.

Ah, miten mielelläni hukuttautuisin, jollei vesi olisi niin kylmää!

AÅŸk?n orta yolu yoktur; ya mahveder ya kurtar?r. AÅŸk, ölüm deÄŸilse hayatt?r.

He had the kind of smile that inhabited every part of his face-his eyes, his cheeks; there was even a dimple. I wear my heart on my sleeve, that smile said, and no woman could be unmoved by such transparency.

Love is such a slippery thing.

She was touching his body with her tongue, and he felt it there, but somehow what she was doing went deeper. As if that gentle, moist tongue of hers were flicking his heart as well.

The landscape of a woman's soul could change as quickly as a world at war.

Remember this, she thought. The way the light caught in his unruly hair, the love in his brown eyes, the chapped lips that had kissed her only an hour ago, in the darkness.

You are of me, Loreda, in a way that can never be broken. Not by words or anger or actions or time. I love you.

I love you," he said quietly. "I love you, too." The word felt too small, too ordinary to contain all of this emotion.

In literature, death was many things—a message, catharsis, retribution

I do," she said quietly, stung by the sudden thought that without him, no one would know her that well.