Quotes About Emotion

We burn so hard, but we shed so little light; it makes us crazy and sad.

A man kills the thing he loves, and he must die a little himself.

The representative element in a work of art may or may not be harmful; always it is irrelevant. For, to appreciate a work of art we need bring with us nothing from life, no knowledge of its ideas and affairs, no familiarity with its emotions. Art

We have no other means of recognising a work of art than our feeling for it. The objects that provoke aesthetic emotion vary with each individual.

Art is the outward integration inspired by the artist's inner disintegration.

The sound of the sea you hear in Proust, as if the whole book were a shell held to your ear, is the sound of the amniotic fluid, reminding you, across all your barriers of self-protection, that the first thing you ever heard was voices in the water.

Until then, most of my poems had been devotedly incomprehensible. Now they were becoming comprehensible, a transformation that would have allowed me to detect their sentimentality if they had not been so true to my feelings, which were sentimental.

Nationalism, as a state of mind, is all fervour and no judgement. National pride, however, is a different and better thing.

Obviously, I'm attracted to heavier movies.

Adornment is never anything except a reflection of the heart.

Poems, Dramatic and Miscellaneous

I get no kick from champagne.Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all,So tell me why should it be trueThat I get a kick out of you.

I've got you under my skin,I've got you deep in the heart of me,So deep in my heart, you're really a part of me,I've got you under my skin.

Fold within fold, the beloved drowns in its own being. This world is drenched with that drowning.

Swearing is an art form. You can express yourself much more directly, much more exactly, much more succinctly, with properly used curse words.

My true friends have always given me that supreme proof of devotion, a spontaneous aversion for the man I loved.

The lovesick, the betrayed, and the jealous all smell alike.

It is the image in the mind that links us to our lost treasures; but it is the loss that shapes the image, gathers the flowers, weaves the garland.

That lovely voice; how I should weep for joy if I could hear it now!

Love...is also a form of poison, for to fall in love is to want and to need everything necessary for survival from one all-powerful and barely differentiated Other.

Her stormy eyes, her sincere sensuality, the softness of her skin and her voice

Le blanc bleuté de ses yeux, presque aussi bleu que sa claire robe d'été, l'arrangement parfait et superflu de sa joue, de sa bouche et de ses paupières, ne le touchèrent pas.

I've known perfectly well, for a long time, that I have an irrational heart. But knowing it doesn't stop me in the least.

A woman can never die of grief. She is such a solid creature, so hard to kill!