Quotes About Emotion

What is poetry? you ask, while fixing your blue pupil on mine. What is poetry! And you are asking me? Poetry...is you.

No digáis que, agotado su tesoro, de asuntos falta, enmudeció la lira; podrá no haber poetas; pero siempre habrá poesía.

Dices que tienes corazón, y sólo lo dices porque sientes sus latidos. Eso no es corazón...; es una máquina, que, al compás que se mueve, hace ruido.

Amar! Había nacido para soñar el amor, no para sentirlo".

Para hacerte gozar con mi alegría, para que sufras tú con mi dolor, para que sientas palpitar mi vida, hice mis versos yo.

Paseando por entre la indiferente multitud esta silenciosa tempestad de mi cabeza.

The soul that can speak through the eyes can also kiss with a gaze.

Qué es poesía? --dices mientras clavas en mi pupila tu pupila azul. ¿Qué es poesía? ¿Y tú me lo preguntas? Poesía... eres tú.

A friend gave me a CD of the 'Pathetique' Symphony as a Christmas present. I went home, and I put on the CD expecting to listen to Tchaikovsky. But it started 'ta ta ta taaa.' It was too long for me. I didn't understand it at first, but then I fell in love, in love, in love.

Tal vez así mueren los poetas: cuando las palabras se agotan.

Anything that happens after I write a song...that's fine with me. It's up to the listener to read into it what they need from it. And that's part of the reason I write like I do, so I can leave the holes in the right places so people can say, 'Yeah, that happened to me,' and they're able to have their own little fantasy about it.

Words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face. But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare.

There is only one good thing in life, and that is love.

A strange art – music – the most poetic and precise of all the arts, vague as a dream and precise as algebra.

Les paroles d'amour, qui sont toujours les mêmes, prennent le goût des lèvres dont elles sortent.

I know love," Says the littlest one. "Love is like a flower." "Why is love a flower? Little one tell me." "Love is a flower For the sweetness it gives Before it dies away.

Lazy poets try to elicit a reader's response with words designed to tug at the heart.

I think,' said Ammar ibn Khairan of Aljais, very slowly, 'that I should know you in a pitch black room. I think I would know you anywhere near me in the world.' He paused. 'Is that answer enough, Jehane? Or too much of one? Will you say?

What broke her in the end was to see that Dari, moving quietly in the snow, was tracing his flower neatly with a thin branch in the growing dark while tears were pouring down his face without surcease.

Forgetting is part of our lives, my lord. Sometimes it is a blessing, or we could never move beyond loss.

It was upon them. Who knows love? Who says he knows love? What is love, tell me. An old song. A child's song.

I want to kill someone," Tai said. A pause to consider this. "I am familiar with the desire. It is sometimes effective. Not invariably.

With her words the moment passed, the world moved on again: time, the flowing river, the moons. And the delicate thing that had been in the air between them - whatever it might have been named - fell, as it seemed to Jehane, softly to rest in the grass by the water. 'Goodbye,' he said. 'Be always blessed, on all the paths of your life. My dear.' And then he said her name.

They did not like the sensation of having things vibrating on their shells, though. It made them angry. Very angry.