Quotes About Emotion

At Beriel's silence she turned around -- and fury crashed against her like a wave thrown by a storm against the rocky coast.

We must select the illusion which appeals to our temperament, and embrace it with passion.

Is it possible to love any human being without being torn limb from limb?

I have defined poetry as a 'passionate pursuit of the Real.

Horrors might burst out of them. But something must burst out, sometimes, if men are not machines.

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.

The only rule is, do what you really, impulsively, wish to do. But always act on your own responsibility, sincerely. And have the courage of your own strong emotion.

Can you never like things without clutching them as if you wanted to pull the heart out of them? Why don't you have a bit more restraint, or reserve, or something? She looked up at him full of pain, then continued slowly to stroke her lips against a ruffled flower. Their scent, as she smelled it, was so much kinder than he; it almost made her cry.

And do you call yours a divine discontent?' 'Yes. I don't care about its divinity. But damn your happiness! So long as life's full, it doesn't matter whether it's happy or not. I'm afraid your happiness would bore me.

John Thomas says good-night to Lady Jane, a little droopingly, but with a hopeful heart.

Even your joy is like a flame coming off of sadness

How terrible it was that it should be spring, and everything cold-hearted, cold-hearted.

He had become a settled effect in her spirit, a state permanently established, not continuous, but always recurring.

She did not know why she could not move. It was as in a dream when the heart strains and the body cannot stir.

Instead of men kissing you, and touching you, they revealed their minds to you. It was great fun! But what cold minds!

I believe in being warm-hearted. I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. I believe if men could fuck with warm hearts, and the women take it warm-heartedly, everything would come all right. It's all this cold-hearted fucking that is death and idiocy.

She went to the fence and sat there, watching the gold clouds fall to pieces, and go in immense, rose-coloured ruin towards the darkness. Gold flamed to scarlet, like pain in its intense brightness. Then the scarlet sank to rose, and rose to crimson, and quickly the passion went out of the sky. All the world was dark grey. Paul scrambled quickly down with his basket, tearing his shirt-sleeve as he did so.

But the passion of gratitude with which he received her into his soul, the extreme, unthinkable gladness of knowing himself living and fit to unite with her, he, who was so nearly dead, who was so near to being gone with the rest of his race down the slope of mechanical death, could never be understood by her.

Yes, this was love, this ridiculous bouncing of the buttocks, and the wilting of the poor, insignificant, moist little penis.

She felt unpeeled and rather exposed. She felt almost improper.

Anger cuts through a wide range of things. Cuts like a knife

Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.

It's terrible, once you've got a man into your blood! she said.