Quotes About Emotion

In a conflict between the heart and the brain, follow your heart.

I began to realize what everyone in the world knows and routinely forgets: that to be loved sexually is to be loved not for one's actual self but for one's ability to arouse desire in the other...Only the thoughts in one's mind or intuitions of the spirit can attract permanently...

Monstrously Remote: "Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I immediately draw radii from my love—from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter—to monstrously remote points of the universe… the dreadful pitfalls of eternity, the unknowledgeable beyond the unknown, the helplessness, the sickening involutions and interpenetrations of space and time." – Speak Memory (1966)

Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.

One is always at home in one's past...

Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.

hot, opalescent, thick tears that poets and lovers shed)...

My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ.

Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.

I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else.

To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is Love. Now we can continue.

There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child.

Although we read with our minds, the seat of artistic delight is between the shoulder blades. That little shiver behind is quite certainly the highest form of emotion that humanity has attained when evolving pure art and pure science. Let us worship the spine and its tingle.

I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you. I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t'aimais, je t'aimais!

Remembrance, like Rembrandt, is dark but festive.

She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward first the scepter of my passion.

And the most poignant thing was not Lolita's absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from the chorus.

Without you I wouldn't have moved this way, to speak the language of flowers.

We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives. I was a strong lad and survived; but the poison was in the wound, and the wound remained ever open

I love you, I'm waiting for you unbearably.

You are the only person I can talk with about the shade of a cloud, about the song of a thought...

His heart missed a beat and never regretted the lovely loss.

My solemn exasperation was to her the silence of love.

All we have to do when reading Bleak House is to relax and let our spines take over. Although we read with our minds, the seat of artistic delight is between the shoulder blades. That little shiver behind is quite certainly the highest form of emotion that humanity has attained when evolving pure art and pure science. Let us worship the spine and its tingle.