Quotes About Emotion

Then why aren't you happy?" "I don't want to talk about it." "And

hinc illae lacrimae, hence those tears.

And isn't the whole point of things-beautiful things-that they connect you to some larger beauty

I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you." How

There was a coldness, it seemed to me, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford me the least ray of light.

You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.

This always shocked me like a momentary glare of insanity.

I experienced a strange tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thoughts about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence. This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling.

As side-by-side we walked along this road, hemmed in by two loose stone-like walls, something running towards us in a zig-zag line passed us at a wild pace, with a sound like a frightened laugh or shudder.

Darling, darling. I live in you, and you would die for me. I love you so.

Argument need not be heated; it can be punctuated with courteous smiles - or sympathetic tears.

My friend, God loves you today. If you knew how much He loves you, it would break your heart—you would be in tears. Now you can keep from experiencing God's love, but you cannot

What happens to rage deferred? It explodes. It explodes in spectacular fashion.

If they lived through this, she promised to herself she'd be different. More open. Less worried. More fun. Less angry. More loving.

If you ever want to get laid again, you'll promise me." Andy felt himself tear up. "Okay.

He adored Goya. The madness leapt off the walls.

Vulnerability, not music, is the food of love.

She, as no other ever could, reached every corner of his heart. His joy, and his salvation.

And, at such a time, for a few of us there will always be a tugging at the heart—knowing a precious moment had gone and we not there.

Summertime! And summertime in my early twenties! And in love! No, better than that - secretly in love, coddling it up in myself. It's an odd feeling, coming rarely more than once in most of our lifetimes. In books, as often as not, they represent it as a sort of anguish but it wasn't so for me. Later perhaps, but not then.

Temper [is] a weapon that we hold by the blade.

It is wonderful how much you can conceal between the touch of the handle and the opening of the door if your heart is in it.

Poetry speaks to you either at first sight or not at all. A flash of revelation and a flash of response.

Words are coin. Words alienate. Language is no medium for desire. Desire is rapture, not exchange.