Quotes About Emotion

Mis desequilibradas palabras son el lujo de mi silencio.

Mas lembrar-se com saudade é como se despedir de novo.

Do you know it's a lie? That I didn't dream about you?

Understand me: I write you an onomatopoeia, convulsion of language.

she is a harmless virgin whom nobody needs. It strikes me that I don't need her either and that what I am writing could be written by another. Another writer, of course, but it would have to be a man for a woman would weep her heart out.

Living leaves me atremble.

Não ter nascido bicho parece ser uma de minhas secretas nostalgias.

Inside her it was as if death didn't exist, as if love could weld her, as if eternity were renewal.

Lo único que estropea la felicidad es el miedo

Being happy is for what?

In no sense an intellectual, I write with my body.

Queria tanto morrer de saúde. Como quem explode. Éclate é melhor: j'éclate.

Everything struck her at times as too precious, impossible to touch. And, at times, what people used as air to breathe, was weight and death for her.

Suddenly I was crying. It was already love.

I realize now that it was a certain apathy, rather than peace, that turned my acts and my desires to ash.

The last time I came down from the enchanted saddle, my human sadness was so great that I swore never to again. The ride, however, continues on in me. I converse, I clean the house, I smile, but I know that the ride is within me.

Nunca la olvidé: jamás se olvida a una persona con la que se ha dormido.

O senhor não compreende, disse ela de novo irritada, que eu não posso pedir? porque preciso de tanto que ninguém pode me dar?

Solamente otra persona que lo hubiera experimentado sabría lo que ella sentía, pues de casi todo lo que importa no se sabe hablar.

What does it feel like to have a girl?" said the man, chewing. Her father wiped his mouth with his napkin, tilted his head to one side and said smiling: "Sometimes it feels like I have a warm egg in my hand. Sometimes, nothing: total memory loss…Occasionally it feels like I have a girl of my own, really mine.

As for music, where does it go? The only concrete thing in music is the instrument.

The steel suddenly touched her heart. Ah, jealousy, it was jealousy, the cold hand mashing her slowly, squeezing her, diminishing her soul.

Estamos intentando la alegría! ¿Sientes al menos eso? ¿Y sientes cómo nos arriesgamos en el peligro? ¿Sientes que hay más seguridad en el dolor tibio?

One thing I do know: love, however violent, is pure. And that is how I have come to discover that I am not pure.