Quotes About Emotion

I survive by finding the sweet spot between reason and unreason, between the rational and irrational.

In memory, she lived and moved and laughed, but all that a photograph could offer was one frozen moment of a life.

When we love someone, we're held hostage by fate, because if we lose that person, then we, too, are lost.

Anger was a reliable defense, but one that allowed no chance of final victory. Anger was a medicine but never a cure, briefly numbing the pain without extracting the thorn that caused the agony.

Sometimes complex and difficult moral choices are decided less by reason and by right than by sentiment.

How passionately we love everything that cannot last...

Grief is a healthy emotion, and it's healthy to embrace it. By accepting loss, we clarify our values and the meaning of our lives.

It is music that speaks to the deepest reaches of your soul, and you are lifted higher, ever higher, by the adagio, in my opinion more so even than in any of the masses that Beethoven composed.

I love you more than life.

I curse the night I let your idiot father squirt you into me.

Man, I like you. I wish you could like me.

I realized that loving people, depending on them, NEEDING them, is just too dangerous. Love is just a way to set you up for a bad fall. It's the rug they pull out from under you at the very moment you decide that everything's going to be fine. We're all so ephemeral. So fragile. And life's so unpredictable.

Art is water, and just as humans are always close to water, for reasons of necessity (to drink, to wash, to flush away, to grow) as well as for reasons of pleasure (to play in, to swim in, to relax in front of, to sail upon, to suck on frozen, coloured and sweetened), so humans must always be close to art in all its incarnations, from the frivolous to the essential. Otherwise we dry up.

When existential depression attacks without warning, your father dyes his hair.

Her manner was as though she were talking of a distant foreign literature. There was something lonely, something sad in it, something that rather suggested a beggar who has lost all desire.

The woman was silent, her eyes on the floor. Shimamura had come to a point where he knew he was only parading his masculine shamelessness, and yet it seemed likely enough that the woman was familiar with the failing and need not be shocked by it. He looked at her. Perhaps it was the rich lashes of the downcast eyes that made her face seem warm and sensuous. She shook her head very slightly, and again a faint blush spread over her face.

I gave myself up to my tears. It was as though my head had turned to clear water, it was falling pleasantly away drop by drop; soon nothing would remain.

And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love

The high, thin nose was a little lonely, a little sad, but the bud of her lips opened and closed smoothly, like a beautiful little circle of leeches.

Stop. I don't like it. I don't like having people die.

But love flowed into the apology, to coddle and mollify the guilt.

Love is my only lifeline.

The labor into which a heart has poured its whole love—where will it have its say, to excite and inspire, and when?

It was, with no attempt at covering itself, the naked heart of a woman calling out to her man.