Quotes About Emotion

O! he give to us his Joy That our grief he may destroy; Till our grief is fled and gone He doth sit by us and moan.

Fear & Hope are — Vision

I dried my tears, and armed my fears With ten-thousand shields and spears

My mother groand! my father wept. Into the dangerous world I leapt William Blake: Infant Sorrow

THE LILY The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threat'ning horn: While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. THE GARDEN OF LOVE I laid me down upon a bank, Where Love lay sleeping; I heard among the rushes dank Weeping, weeping.

And because I am happy, and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury.

It was like picking a scab off a sore; he actually wanted scar tissue - it would be quite wrong to try and forget, to blank it all out. Every fraught memory that lurked here had played its role: everything he was today was an indirect result of the life he had led then. It confirmed the rightness of every step he had taken.

I wasn't feeling grief: that hellish chest-crammed agony you feel - but some portion of my brain activated by the memory decided to trigger the tear ducts

Then, as I stood in that English garden on the soft early summer night, I felt a surge of pure well-being engulf my whole body. I felt a shivering current of happiness and benevolence flow through me.

As I write this I feel that draining, hollowing helplessness that genuine love for another person produces in you. It's at these moments that we know we are going to die. Only with Freya, Stella and Gail. Only three. Better than none.

It's funny how, sometimes, one can be so convinced, so utterly certain, about something as entirely fickle as strong emotion

what massive turbulence of emotion she hid beneath a surface of total calm and placidity.

Love is not a feeling. It does not belong to that category of bodily experience which would include, for instance, pain.

Dido-my solitary bridesmaid- hadn't yet married Reggie Southover, and she didn't bring him to the wedding. For the first time, I thought she was jealous of me. 'My, my, Lady Farr,' she said, checking the hang of my wedding dress. 'Do I have to curtsey?' 'Only on my birthday. And you can always call me Amory when we're alone.' 'Fuck off!

Damn, damn, damn," as he felt something wet and warm puddle on his seat.

It was ... a love engendering gentleness and goodness that moved me and that I saw in you

In my life the furniture eats me the chairs, the floor the walls which heard your sobs drank up my emotion- they which alone know everything and snitched on us in the morning-

prose has to do with the fact of an emotion ; poetry has to do with the dynamisation of emotion into a separate form. This is the force of imagination. prose : statement of facts concerning emotions, intellectua states, data of all sorts - technical expositions, jargon of all sorts - fictional and other - poetry : new form dealt with as a reality in itself.

But love is unworldly, and nothing comes of it but love...

But love love is unworldly, and nothing comes of it but love—following and falling endlessly from her thoughts

Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.

She liked the words; they satisfied her famine for phrases.

Men are apt to mistake the strength of their feeling for the strength of their argument. The heated mind resents the chill touch and relentless scrutiny of logic.

I catch fire and find the reserves of courage and assertiveness to speak up. When that happens I get quite carried away. My blood gets hot my brow wet I become unbearably and unconscionably sarcastic and bellicose I am girded for a total showdown.