Quotes About Emotion

You don't change what you love or you never loved it to begin with.

But I might—" he bit out. "Tell me you're not a fucking virgin." "No, I'm not a fucking virgin. Virgins have yet to fuck, remember?

Love is like cigarettes. It gives you a little pleasure while you're at it, but leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth and a pain in your chest.

Since I know you don't like me, don't bother answering, because it would trouble you; but I remember you always and I keep a place for you in my heart, brimful of poetry.

Never let me lose the marvel of your statue eyes or the accent that by night the solitary rose of your breath places on my cheek.

The still pool of your mouth under a thicket of kisses.

Between your love for me and mine for you --air of stars and tremor of plant-- a thicket of anemones raises with a dark moan an entire year.

I want to be a poet, from head to toe, living and dying by poetry.

Love without passion is dreary; passion without love is horrific.

Who loves, raves.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

Poetry is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.

Sweet is revenge - especially to women.

My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

Happiness was born a twin.

Woman! experience might have told me, That all must love thee who behold thee: Surely experience might have taught Thy firmest promises are nought: But, placed in all thy charms before me, All I forget, but to adore thee.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

That which would not yield, nor could forget, Which, when it least appear'd to melt, Intensely thought, intensely felt: The deepest ice which ever froze Can only o'er the surface close; The living stream lies quick below, And flows--and cannot cease to flow.

Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

Too oft is a smile But the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestation or fear; Give me a soft sigh, Whilst the soultelling eye Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Censure no more shall brand my humble name The child of passion and the fool of fame

There rose no day there rolled no hour Of pleasure unembittered; And not a trapping decked my Power That galled not while it glittered.