Quotes About Emotion

Funny how you dig yourself into a hole by the teaspoon—the smallest of compromises, the little roundings off or slight recastings of one emotion as another that is a tad nicer or more flattering.

I glory in the emotionally commonplace

A petty one, but most resentments are. And one that for its smallness I felt obliged to repress. For that matter, that is the nature of resentment, the objection we cannot express. It is silence more than the complaint itself that makes the emotion so toxic, like poisons the body won't pee away.

It's not that I have no shame. Rather, I'm exhausted with shame, slippery all over with its sticky albumen taint. It is not an emotion that leads anywhere.

I bask in their heatedness as before a woodstove. My own apathy is bone chilling.

I kept scrabbling around in myself for this new indescribable emotion, like stirring a crowded silverware drawer for the potato peeler, but no matter how I rattled around, no matter what I moved out of the way, it wasn't there. The potato peeler is always in the drawer after all. It's under the spatula, it's slipped into the fold of the food-processor guarantee -

They had no comprehension of why anyone would seek out a film with an unhappy ending or buy a painting that wasn't pretty.

Our house had not been spurted with the Day-Glo spray of spontaneous outrage but slathered with a hatred that had reduced until it was thick and savorous, like a fine French sauce.

His face churned. That was the point, before he said a word, that he broke her heart. The contortion of those muscles paraded a decision over whether to tell her the truth. Once he finally spoke, Lawrence's opting for the honesty route didn't nearly compensate for the fact that candor had been a choice. For an alternative direction to have beckoned, it was probably well trod.

Nothing is interesting of you're not interested. In vain, I had been waiting for Kevin to price out, to demonstrate as I stood arms folded that he was worthy of my ardor. That was too much to demand of a little boy, who would only be as lovable to me as I allowed him to be. It was past time that I at least met Kevin halfway.

Sometimes I feel it right under my ribs. In my throat. Under my breastbone. It moves around. Sometimes it lodges in my lower back, and I slump in my chair. It's an ache. It feels a little bit like having a mobile tumor or blood clot or kidney stone.

Money is emotional," Lowell pronounced. "Because all value is subjective, money is worth what people feel it's worth.

The poet... may be used as a barometer, but let us not forget that he is also part of the weather.

Love is a tempestuous mistress. And none of us shall ever master her.

There is a look in his eye, a heavy look that makes him seem older, as though in one night he has lived one hundred lifetimes. And it makes him appear even more handsome.

The pain of lost love is as total, as self-obliterating an emotion as the initial ecstasy.

Not all scars show. Not all wounds heal. Sometimes you can't see, the pain someone feels.

A brand is a voice and a product is a souvenir.

Pain has a flavor. The question is...what does it taste like to you?

Because sometimes pain is knowing, and sometimes pain is sharing that knowledge with someone who loves you but can't do anything to help.

I wished there was a way to keep that in a bottle, that one moment of wonderful perfect, so I could open it up whenever I needed to get a good whiff.

Clearly I have a talent now: I can trace every single thing back to a certain, scared place in the map of my heart.

Infatuation was weather - love was climate.

But 'contentment'. Is that happiness? Or is that only resignation wearing a funny hat?