Quotes About Emotion

Ursula is something I will never feel again: she is Melancholy, cut into the soul and flesh.

True Christian love is not derived from things without, but floweth from the heart, as from a spring.

Desejo, sonho e medo, o amor é um salto sem rede entre a razão e a magia. (E só assim vale a pena).

My blood burned withing me.

She is bending over her child. She can't leave her. The child is laid out in state on a table. She wants to take one more photograph of the child, probably the last. In life, the child would never sit still for a photograph. She says to herself, "I'm going to get the camera," as if saying to the child, "Don't move.

ô literatura! Por que as coisas nos parecem sempre belas quando protegidas pela distância?

Não é uma forma de esconder seu sentimento de superioridade? Ter pena dos outros não é se sentir superior a esses outros?

Aí parei de chorar, chorava de ódio e o choro de ódio é estimulante, as minhas melhores ideias nasceram do ódio.

Sentei-me no chão roendo os sequilhos e chorando porque queria a minha mãe, não a que saiu de mantilha mas a que ficou no retrato.

Sabia que não ia voltar mas continuava pensando com tanta força. Como quando se tira um vestido velho do baú, um vestido que não é para usar, só para olhar. Só para ver como ele era. Depois a gente dobra de novo e guarda mas não se cogita em jogar fora ou dar. Acho que saudade é isso.

A música tinha um enredo e desfiava esse enredo como uma pessoa amiga que entrava para uma visita, uma pessoa muito amiga mas muito estranha, que ora chorava, ora ria, repetindo de vez em quando o começo da historinha: "Sabe, Virgínia, eu vou contar, era uma vez...

Não conte a ninguém, mas descobri, a bolha de sabão é o amor

Love knoweth no laws.

A heat full of coldness, a sweet full of bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, which maketh thoughts have eyes, and hearts, and ears; bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jealousy, killed by dissembling, buried by ingratitude; and this is love.

I have feelings, but my pen cannot and will not write feelings; nay, my heart has no mind that can coin them into words.

I love you Aurora Eden you are so unpredictably predictable!

I don't just want to write a story. I want to pull the reader into my ink so they feel the cold of a snowy forest or the pain of a tortured soul. I want them to laugh and cry, to smile and sigh, and when they reach the end of the book and find themselves wishing it hadn't ended...then I've done my job.

A boy in love is not mainly a calf but a poet.

Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.

Tennison was about to reply when Burkin caught her eye. He gripped her elbow and whispered, "Leave the room, let him cry, leave him . . 

I'm no good at this kind of stuff, but you are suddenly the most important thing in my life

Pure love was always difficult to witness. Why was that, she wondered? Because it was so rare? So beautiful? SO damned unattainable for most of the poor saps muddling through this life?

In Maine during the summer of 1920 they rowed around Hog Island to the side facing the open ocean, and here he asked her to marry him. She was emotionally dead, she confessed. He didn't seem to mind.

That bitch of a war killed the lady I really loved -- the Great Society.