Quotes About Emotion

She wanted to cry, but she did not want Peter to see her cry, and she especially did not want Teacher, with her flowing hair, to see her cry.

What, exactly, do I mean by the term weenie music? I mean "The kind of sniveling, pouty, hypersensitive, self-absorbed song, usually performed by males, that makes you want to pick up the singer by his pencil neck and shake him until he stops.

Goddamn sometimes I only want this feeling to stay and last.

Love is implicit in every connection. It should be. Thus when absent it makes us insane. (You Shall Know Our Velocity)

You can't ever guess at life, at pain. All pain is real, and all pain is personal. It's the most personal thing we have. It eats each of us differently.

Existing, period – that is what drives men to irrational acts.

Not many songs can fend off evil. But the right song with the right voice can be a weapon; anyone who's listened to music through headphones while riding the subway or plowing angrily through a rush-hour sidewalk knows how it can and separate you from them, allows you to say to the teeming masses that you are this and they are that.

You still know that boy. He was very angry at fourteen, fifteen, in summer and winter, at home or in the world. So angry that his face contorted in photos. The camera was a question and his face did not know the answer.

Animals howl, he had been told, to declare their existence.

she'd never thought of him while in the tub or flat on her bed- but in his presence she didn't want to talk or eat, she wanted to be nude with him, under a dirty sheet in a borrowed house. She wanted to hold his shoulders; she wanted to go snowshoeing with him; she wanted to go to funerals with him; she wanted him to be the father of her children

At Loch Mor we walked down a spongy hill to a valley. The sun was dropping then dropped, leaving a sky of frilly reds. The moon appeared too soon. The valley sloped around a teardrop-shaped lake, pink with the bizarre fuchsia bursts of the late-coming sunset. Violet heather bruised the green weedy ground as we jumped down. This was a place conceived in a burst of emotion by a melancholy boy.

But it felt good to cry, to let her shoulders shake, to feel the hot tears on her face, to taste their baby salt, to wipe snot all over the underside of her shirt.

You're in front of my face, he said every day. It was an old Yemeni expression, hard to translate into English. It was something you said to a loved one, to a friend, while pointing to your own face. It meant that the person before you was never out of your vision. That you kept them foremost in your mind.

aside emotionally, that is . . . which was where trusting God came in, she supposed.

Bright people have the capability of freaking out faster and more dramatically than anyone else.

We thought a little longer, and in the end we simply called her Joy.

In the end she just said..... All I did was to run away for a few minutes! All I wanted was to be free!

You're so beautiful, Ella,' I told her. I tried to tell her more, but the words I had were not enough and the sounds came out as useless gasps and murmurs. I just held her close, closer. I ached to protect her from all darkness, all pain, and all death.

And I was there as well," he said. "And for one as old as me it's not so long ago, and it drove us all a little mad and a little sad and left us all with partly broken hearts.

He laughed, but he didn't smile.

Me great achievement is that I have been happy, that I've never been nowt but happy

It would cut into him at unpredictable moments, like a gutting knife made of colored light.

The Pullers sat there for a long time together, big, strong, and courageous men transformed back into two little boys by an old man's loving words that had come a lot later than they should have.

BED. He smelled his adult sweat, tasted it