Quotes About Emotion

My father had never liked tears. He thought a man never cried for others, only for himself. And if he did, he was a coward and deserved no pity.

i libri sono specchi in cui troviamo solo ciò che abbiamo dentro di noi, e (...) la lettura coinvolge mente e cuore, due merci sempre più rare.

Beatriz Aquilar : i libri sono specchi in cui troviamo solo ciò che abbiamo dentro di noi, e (...) la lettura coinvolge mente e cuore. - L'ombra del vento

Poezija rašoma ašaromis, apsakymai - krauju, o istorija - nematomu rašalu

Viena iš vaikyst?s apgauli? yra tai, jog neb?tina suprasti, kad pajustum. Kai protas pradeda suvokti, kas vyksta, žaizdos širdyje jau b?na gana gilios.

Love is indeed blind, and it makes you imagine qualities in a person that don't exist.

Love is when you look into someone's eyes and see everything you need." —Unknown

The only abnormality is the incapacity to love." —Anaïs Nin

Love is most weak when there is more doubt than there is trust but love is most strong when you learn to trust even with all the doubts." —Unknown

Jane smothered the glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her duty.

Ken thrilled in all his being.

Peg, are you goin' to throw me down, too?" "Mr. Arthurs! I—I—

Când iubeÈ™ti pe cineva îi simÈ›i durerea.

Depression, in Karla's experience, was a dull, inert thing - a toad that squatted wetly on your head until it finally gathered the energy to slither off. The unhappiness she had been living with for the last ten days was a quite different creature. It was frantic and aggressive. It had fists and fangs and hobnailed boots. It didn't sit, it assailed. It hurt her. In the mornings, it slapped her so hard in the face that she reeled as she walked to the bathroom.

You mean, she breathed, you're in love with me? I don't care what words anyone uses, he growled, stopping his pace to stand in front of her. Use the words of all the languages you know. Or make some up. Doesn't matter. What matters is that I want to be with you forever. Only you. And I hope to God, he said his voice rough as he stroked her hair, her face, that you only want me. There was no glib charm now, only the raw truthh of his heart, laid bare before her.

Women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget. The dream is the truth. They then act and do things accordingly.

Of course he wasn't dead. He could never be dead until she herself had finished feeling and thinking. The kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.

He looked like the love thoughts of women.

Love, I find, is like singing.

She was too busy feeling grief to dress like grief.

Of course he wasn't dead. He could never be dead until she herself had finished feeling and thinking.

Janie full of that oldest human longing - self-revelation.

So the beginning of this was a woman and she had come back from burying the dead. Not the dead of sick and ailing with friends at the pillow and the feet. She had come back from the sodden and the bloated; the sudden dead, their eyes flung wide open in judgment.

She went on in her overalls. She was too busy feeling grief to dress like grief.