Quotes About Emotion

And Pham drowned in an old, old rage, remembering….

I never guessed I could cry so hard my face hurt.

What ? " Rose whispered. Her heart skipped a beat. " Did you just say l-love ?" He chuckled. " Love," he repeated. " I know enough to be certain what that word means in your language." Rose smiled as their gazes locked. " Yes, and it also means that we will find a way to be together--no matter what it takes." " I love you , Wild Rose," White Owl said hoarsely before he stole away her breath with another intoxicating kiss.

She despised people who gave way to self-pity. Weeping wouldn't do anyone any good.

I could never hurt him enough to make his betrayal stop hurting. And it hurts, in every part of my body.

He turns toward me. I want to touch him, but I'm afraid of his bareness; afraid that he will make me bare too. 'Is this scaring you, Tris?' 'No,' I croak. I clear my throat. 'Not really. I'm only…afraid of what I want.' 'What do you want?' Then his face tightens. 'Me?' Slowly I nod.

Hearing him talk about his mother, about his intact family, makes my chest hurt for a second, like someone pierced it with a needle.

We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.

His fingers slide into my hair, and I hold on to his arms to stay steady as we press together like two blades at a stalemate. He is stronger than anyone I know, and warmer than anyone else realizes; he is a secret that I have kept, and will keep for the rest of my life.

I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did. I don't.

He slides his hand over my cheek, one finger anchored behind my ear. Then he tilts his head down and kisses me, sending a warm ache through my body. I wrap my hands around his arm, holding him there as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest and stomach is not as noticeable.

But when I do feel all the strength go out of me, and I fall to my knees beside the table and I think I cry, then, or at least I want to, and everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.

Then I realize what it is. It's him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.

Un pájaro de papel en el pecho dice que el tiempo de los besos no ha llegado

I love you, yes, oh Shivering One!

Pero otro día toco tu mano. Mano tibia... Tu delicada mano silente. A veces cierro mis ojos y toco leve tu mano, leve toque que comprueba su forma, que tienta su estructura, sintiendo bajo la piel alada el duro hueso insobornable, el triste hueso adonde no llega nunca el amor. Oh carne dulce, que sí empapa del amor hermoso.

And the noise has turned into waves of blood inside the heart.

For you and everything alive inside of you, I write, and write.

Your beautiful heart was born to love.

Maybe I can feel today because I'm dying. And my last words will be: I felt.

Pity is the deadliest feeling that can be offered to a woman.

There are shortcuts to happiness, and dancing is one of them.

I felt so heavy with love. I could feel it packed inside my chest.

I didn't know his middle name or his favorite color, but I knew how his thoughts felt caressing my mind. The bright tang of his adrenaline coursing under my skin. The force of his heart, strong and rhythmic and a bit sad, pumping within my own chest.