Quotes About Emotion

She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, or when, but distance seemed to be spreading between them like spilled ink, staining everything.

What do I do without you?" Elsa tried to smile but couldn't. She was too tired. Too weak. "You live, Loreda," she whispered. "And know Ã¢â'¬Â¦ every single second Ã¢â'¬Â¦ how much I loved you." Find your voice and use it Ã¢â'¬Â¦ take chances Ã¢â'¬Â¦ never give up.

The truth was that her photographs were an extension of who she was, what she thought, how she felt. It took perfect concentration to capture the exquisite pain of personal tragedy on film. You had to be there one hundred percent, in the moment - but it had to be their moment.

The more extreme and the more expressed that passion is, the more unbearable does life seem without it. It reminds us that if passion dies or is denied, we are partly dead and that soon, come what may, we will be wholly so.   —

Love matters. Maybe its the only thing that does.

The father who went off to war was not the one who came home. She had tried to be loved by him; more important, she had tried to keep loving him, but in the end, one was as impossible as the other.

Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. —The Velveteen Rabbit Margery Williams

The difference between Loreda and her mother wasn't fear—they shared that. It was fire. Her mother's passion had gone out.

Regret, I know, is a powerful remainder; it can bring the strongest man to his knees.

Sometimes a mood changes on its own... Sometimes it needs a shove.

How can I possibly fold all that longing into something as small as words?

Even if they didn't speak of their love, or share their feelings in long, heartfelt conversations, the bond was there. Sturdy.

is not biology that determines fatherhood. It is love.

Isabelle had traded kisses with boys as if they were pennies to be left on park benches and lost in chair cushions—meaningless.

She smiled at the memory, even as it saddened her to think that somewhere along the way their dreams had untangled, gone on separate paths.

She saw how death impacted people, saw the glazed look in their eyes, the way they shook their heads, the way their sentences broke in half as if they couldn't decide if silence or words would release them from sorrow.

She was angry at him--she knew that, felt it--but as he came toward her, that anger dried up and blew away like dust beneath the longing that mattered so much more.

She thought she had grieved for Matthew, cried all the tears she had, but now she saw the desert of grief that lay before her. It could go on and on. The human body was eighty percent water; that meant she was literally made of tears.

Once, she had taken love for granted. Never again. Love was the sun and the moon and the stars in a world that was otherwise cold and dark.

If ever I am inclined in the future to disbelieve in love, I will remember this moment.

Mama had called Leni the great love of her life and Leni thought maybe that was always true for parents and their children.

When Mom drew back, her eyes were bright and she was smiling. "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 will always love you.

Leni got to her feet, stared at him. I didn't mean to do that. The same words she'd heard spoken by her dad.

Love was the sun and the moon and the stars in a world that was otherwise cold and dark.