Quotes About Emotion

Morelli grabbed the front of my shirt, pulled me to him, and kissed me. It was a great kiss, but I didn't know what the heck it meant. It seemed to me a breaking up kiss would have had less tongue.

I wanted to tell you I....uh, like you. Shit. I chickened out! What was it with me that I couldn't say the big L word? I am such a dope. Morelli sighed into the phone. You are such a dope.

Cute? I think my testosterone level just dropped - Ranger

Be still my heart.

Are you telling me your brain and your lady parts decided on a love fest bake-off winner?

You don't have to be there to be there.

He smiled when he saw me . . . and it was the nice smile that included his eyes.

I sensed a familiar presence behind me. A hand brushed my hair back, and Ranger leaned in to me and kissed me on the nape of my neck.

Ranger released my ponytail but kept a hand on my neck. I tried to act calm, but his touch was humming through me all the way to my toes and points in between.

There's no tab. And there's no price for what we give each other. Not ever. Not financial. Not emotional. I have to get back to work.

He wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulled me to him, and kissed me. The kiss was warm and short.

His participation was in the ballpark of a pity fuck.

Never underestimate maternal rage.

my mother made it clear that her love wasn't dependent on perfection.

Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway.

Kindness was the last thing she needed. She had to stay in the icy place, the numb place, and their warmth threatened to melt her just when she needed the cold.

without my wounds, who was i? my scars were my face, my past was my life.

What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?

Poppies bleed petals of sheer excess. You and I, this sweet battle ground.

Who was I, really? I was the sole occupant of my mother's totalitarian state, my own personal history rewritten to fit the story she was telling that day. There were so many missing pieces. I was starting to find some of them, working my way upriver, collecting a secret cache of broken memories in a shoebox.

My loneliness tasted like pennies.

I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean't.

Lovers who kill each other will blame it on the wind.

We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.