Quotes About Emotion

She's been brought up without love and has no understanding of it.

Funny how you can go along for years hardly thinking about someone, then all of a sudden be so glad to see him.

cease to regard the canvas as a surface on which to paint a picture, but instead as a surface on which to record an event

For colour is one of the most rapturous truths that can be revealed to man.

Love is very beautiful, but very, very sad.

Marie was one of those unfortunately constituted mortals, in whose eyes whatever is lost and gone assumes a value which it never had in possession.

He had been able to repress every disrespectful word; but the flashing eye, the gloomy and troubled brow, were part of a natural language that could not be repressed,-- indubitable signs, which showed too plainly that the man could not become a thing.

No tear dropped over that pillow; in such straits as these, the heart has no tears to give,--it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.

It was a feeling which he had seen before in his mother; but no chord within vibrated to it.

the heart has no tears to give,--it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.

Strange, what brings these past things so vividly back to us, sometimes!

People don't fall in love with each other because it's convenient. They fall in love because they fall in love, and that's it.

It was dreadful, when she thought about it with the tiniest bit of hindsight, to admit this was the case. That a small part of herself was such a masochist, so enjoyed putting herself through all of this, that she liked hearing sad songs on the radio and staring gloomily out the window late at night. The tears in her eyes as she walked home of an evening, thinking about how much she loved him and how great they were together. It was so adolescent.

She thought she was a sensible girl. But some kind of love had taken hold of her and refused to let her go, and it wasn't a happy, easy, joyful thing, it had her in a vice-like grip.

She had lost him. Lost him because she'd let him go. And she could not allow herself to regret that decision.

She didn't want to forget how deeply she had loved him, how important it had been to her; she felt as if to discard the memory would be a betrayal of her younger self.

Since being back in London everything seemed greyer, but clearer. She couldn't explain it. The strangest thing was she couldn't recall her New York self. She wanted that part of herself back, but she couldn't remember what it was like to be that Elle. She would catch a whiff of it, like the snatch of a song that still won't lead you to the chorus, and then it would be gone.

I feel calmed and relieved when my husband knocks at my study door in the middle of a fight, puts his arms around me, and says, "I love you. This is stupid. Let's just drop it." Like two kids in the sandbox, we're suddenly light and playful again.

Usually we hate things or people with which we have some emotional involvement.

Instead, I value my images by what's in them; what they convey; and how people respond, react, pause while viewing them, or, perhaps, are enlightened by them.

and I can make him smile. And smiles are precious.

Love is too valuable to allow it to be killed by marriage, social pressures, or any other restriction.

Now sometimes words can serve me well Sometimes words can go to hell For all that they do

It is jazz music that called me to be a musician and I have always sang the songs that moved me the most.