Quotes About Emotion

Oh, jeez, I'm going to come!" His voice was rough. "Goddamn straight you are!

Ä°nsan?n yaÅŸam?n ne olduÄŸunu kavrayan bir varl?k olduÄŸunu söyleyenler yan?l?yor. Anlama yetisi pek bir iÅŸe yaramaz; konuÅŸuyor olmas? aptall???n? yok etmez. Ancak insan kardeÅŸinin ac?s?n? sezip duyumsayamaya gelince, aptall??? hayvanlar?nkini geçer.

Eu nu aduc o colec?ie de m?rturii pro ?i contra, copios putrezite de impar?ialitate. M?rturia sunt eu; impar?ialiatatea o ignor. ?i eu nu practic simpatia sau antipatia, ci dragostea ?i ura.

If a man we don't know phones us up one day and talks a little, makes no suggestions, says nothing special, but nevertheless pays us the kind of attention we rarely receive, we're quite capable of going to bed with him that night, feeling relatively in love. That's what we women are like, and there's nothing wrong with that - it's the nature of the female to open herself to love easily.

Attachment is blinding; it lends an imaginary halo of attractiveness to the object of desire.

Passion cannot be beautiful without excess; one either loves too much or not enough.

ImperfecÅ£iunea este mult mai seduc?toare decât plicticoasa regulariate. O figur? emoÅ£ionant? este o asamblare de defecte armonios repartizate.

His happiness was almost painful, like circulation returning to a dead leg.

Grief is only as deep as the love it's replaced

Ik zal nooit vergeten dat zij voor me huilde toen ik dat zelf niet kon.

There are no words. There are no words for what I felt when I saw the setting sun rise.

Grief doesn't strike bargains.

He was one of those rare men who are capable of being fully in love only once in their lives.

Love's action. It isn't talk and it never has been.

Because she deserved my tears if anyone on earth ever did. I could feel the tears within me, undiscovered, and untouched in their inland sea. Those tears had been with me always.

My mother's voice and my father's fists are two bookends of my childhood, and they form the basis of my art.

I realize words are never enough; they stutter and cleave to the roof of my mouth.

Art is one of the few places where talent and madness can actually go to squirrel away inside each other.

She pronounced each word carefully, as though she was tasting fruit. The words of her poems were a most private and fragrant orchard.

The words "I love you" could contain all the bloodthirsty despair of the abattoir, all the hopelessness of the most isolated, frozen gulag, all the lurid sadness of death row.

Losing tears along the seam of your own image of yourself. It is a mark of shame that causes internal injury, but no visible damage.

In every southerner, beneath the veneer of clichés lies a much deeper motherlode of cliché. But even cliché is overlaid with enormous power when a child is involved.

Don't go yet. Please. Tell me a story, one about us. Tell what it meant. How on earth did it happen? The story, Pat—tell it to me.

My own tears seemed landlocked and frozen in a glacier I could not reach or touch within me.