Quotes About Emotion

The sweetness of his longing dives to a tender, bruised place in me.

Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand.

We've been stitched together at the heart since she was born. I can't breathe in a world where she isn't near.

Life is not unlike cinema. Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand. No matter how much we may love the melody of

Lo que la cabeza no recuerda el corazón lo sigue sabiendo. El amor es lo más fuerte que existe. Más fuerte que todas las demás cosas.

I felt preposterously happy to see him. Felt, in fact, like I was in one of those movies where the woman goes into labor while her husband is out of town and he rushes back, gets there just in time. His face, gauging me, so full of tenderness and respect that you'd think he was my husband, even if he had no idea who I was or what he was doing with me--which makes him, I suppose, like most husbands.

I search the language for a word to tell you how red is red.

Hope was a dangerous emotion that more often than not led men into foolishness and peril, made them risk their lives and lose their wives and part with fortunes that they never recovered.

Romantic music really stirs my soul. And, of course, I love Chinese music it makes me feel closer to home.

A poem is like a score for the human voice.

But, no one can tell without cease our human story, and so we lose, lose

Memory is sweet. Even when it's painful, memory is sweet.

His love for me is like his sewing: various colors and too much thread, the stitching uneven.

I know moments measured by a kiss, or a tear, a pass of the hand along a loved one's face. —Li-Young Lee, from "Always a Rose," Rose (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1986)

Water has invaded my father's heart, swollen, heavy, twice as large. Bloated liver. Bloated legs. The feet have become balloons. A respirator mask makes him look like a diver. When I lay my face against his—the sound of water returning. The

I know lips that love me, that return my kisses by leaving on my cheek their salt. And there is one I love, who hid her heart behind a stone. — Li-Young Lee, from section 5 of "Always a Rose," Rose (BOA Editions, LTD, 1986)

Which is this? This is persimmons, Father. Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk, the strength, the tense precision in the wrist. I painted them hundreds of times eye's closed. These I painted blind. Some things never leave a person: scent of hair of one you love, the texture of persimmons, in your palm, the ripe weight.

Poetry's got a really particular kind of magic. It brings together storytelling, music,lyric,really deep intense feeling, it just seems like a really irresistible concoction to me.

Sidonie," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "You are the most—I mean, you are so…I find you…ah, devil take it! Never mind!" "I beg your pardon?" "Nothing," he growled. "I misspoke. What did you say about oranges?

He almost thought that if he held her, touched his mouth to hers, took in the breath as it left her body, he would feel it too, would begin to breathe again, feel again.

The heart, after all, was nothing more than a muscle.

Her hair is tucked behind her ears, a few stray strands lazily brushing her cheek. I suddenly have the strongest sensation of wanting to reach out and curl them in place behind her ear.

Let no one say that young love is generous. It is selfish and hungry. And

But it was no use. I had the kind of heart that would always be breaking.