Quotes About Emotion

I personally think we developed language because of our deep need to complain.

Music is emotion set to rhythm and tone.

Music is the sonic representation of our soul.

Much as I like reasonable persons, I hate completely rational beings. For that reason, I am always scared and ill at ease when I enter a house in which there are no ash trays.

The passion fades, the remorse is eternal.

What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as child? Variant: What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?

What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?

Anger's not a good emotion.

Why remember? Because remembering honors. Remembering heals. Remembering forgives. Remembering creates appreciation and gratitude — two of the most wondrous salves for your sorrows.

Because of you. I fell in love with you, Alexis Brown, and I don't want to lose you over a glass of champagne.

Indignation overruled introspection.

I took love before. It was not until I met you that I gave love.

He tips his head at Tomasetti and then he's gone.

Tonight, I need him. I need him with every cell in my body. I need him on so many levels I couldn't begin to sort through them or make sense of any of it. I need him with an urgency that scares me, because control is the one thing I will never relinquish, even to him.

He sighed. "You want to know if I love her." He reached over and tilted Sundara's face toward him. "Ask me a question I can answer. Ask me if I love you.

As I stared out of the train window, the scenery became a blur, as unclear as my thoughts and feelings.

Crescent illae crescetis amores.

Any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep. Clive Barker

Pain itself, as a pure experience, is something different from the anxiety attached to it.

I love you. Didn't you know that? I want to love you the way I wasn't able to before. Without holding back. Without either of us holding back.

Those who loved Ruth--so many--touched her hand, her shoulder, held her lightly, but no one could read the world inside other human bones. They could touch the skin and not feel the grief and pain it held only a skin's-width away.

His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed the way no man should kiss and still be allowed to run free.

I'm going to go," he said. "All right." He didn't move. Then: "I don't want to." "Do it anyway." He chuckled. "You're a hard woman, Faith Devlin." "Hardy." "I didn't know him. He isn't real to me. Did you love him?" "Yes." But not the way I love you. Never like that.

As Jay Griffiths observes in her book Wild, René Descartes and the rationalists of the late-seventeenth and eighteenth centuries cultivated "a hatred of 'enthusiasm,' for its emotional, wild surges of knowing were too natural, too bodily, too animal. Rationalism demanded superiority to, and separation from, nature and nature's ways of knowing.