Quotes About Emotion

I loved you with the scientific excuse of the lonely.

Instead of joyfully looking forward to my birth, my mother began systematically preparing for her own death. She was fatalistic.

Have you ever loved anyone?" "You mean besides my mum?" Luke was dumbfounded as he stared at Jack. He knew his friend's story. "She sold you when you were five." Jack shrugged. "Doesn't mean I didn't love her. Just means she didn't love me.

Could love have only one side to it and still be love?

A pity we cannot pick and choose what we remember.

How could my heart be so wrong?" "Because it was such a young heart.

Has any woman ever touched you?" she asked as she splayed her fingers over his thigh. "No." "Do you want a woman to touch you?" "No." She stilled, and Clay pushed himself up. He cradled her check in his palm. "I want you to touch me.

Was a sadness so profound that the mind sought escape into fantasy?

She laid her palm against his bristled cheek. "You're safe," she whispered. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he growled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "I was going to save you." He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. She'd lost her bonnet. She was damn lucky she hadn't lost her life. "You little fool," he rasped in a voice rift with emotion. "You brave little fool.

It hurts to cry," she said, her voice raspy. "It hurts worse not to." "Did you cry?" "For four days straight." "Is that how long it took you to bury them?" "Yes, ma'am," he said in a voice that sounded like stone grating against stone.

Rebecca tilted her face up to Jake and she felt his lips brushing lightly against hers. Then his lips were beside her ear, whispering, "A lifetime of happiness, Reb, I promise.

Shame, when she was younger, had stopped her. Fear, as she grew older, trapped the truth within her.

If it pleases you." And in his wprds, as always, Kate heard the echo of I love you.

Ah, Loree," he whispered near her ear. "You should hear the music." -Austin

You managed to do the same with my heart, didn't you, Frannie? You stole it, and I didn't even feel it happening.

He stirred the fire, and when he spoke, his voice blended in with the roar of the fire's blaze. "I want tonight, Maddie." He twisted his body away from the fire until his attention was focused entirely on her. "Tell me you don't love me, and I'll sleep on the other side of the fire. Otherwise, I intend to take tonight.

couldn't. I knew the truth would cause you to hate me and I'd made the ghastly mistake of falling in love with you." He gave a caustic

Miss Carson, you need to step outside and slap me again. The side you hit is mostly dead. You need to hit the other side of my face so I can feel it like I should.

A short story is a love affair, a novel is a marriage. A short story is a photograph; a novel is a film.

That is what is wrong with cold people. Not that they have ice in their souls - we all have a bit of that - but that they insist every word and deed mirror that ice. They never learn the beauty or value of gesture. The emotional necessity. For them, it is all honesty before kindness, truth before art. Love is art, not truth. It's like painting scenery.

I missed him. Love, I realized, was something your spine memorized. There was nothing you could do about that.

Love drains you, takes with it much of your blood sugar and water weight. You are like a house slowly losing its electricity, the fans slowing, the lights dimming and flickering; the clocks stop and go and stop.

You are unhappy because you believe in such a thing as happy.

Te quiero Patricia,más que puedo fiarme de decir, más que palabras tienen el poderde expresar! !!,babe te quiero.