Quotes About Emotion

She bludgeoned me with a look of such limitless compassion that I immediately began to cry.

I steeled myself against laughter; I would rather die than laugh. I didn't laugh, I did not laugh. But I died, I did die.

Maybe he wouldn't say anything, which is the worst thing men do.

Did you ever really love her? Not really no. But me? Yes. Even though I have no pizzazz?

If I could quietly kill her without anyone knowing, I would.

He called the feeling between us "weird," and I had nothing to add. I kissed the backs of his legs and they sang. He reached around and pulled me down onto his back and I lay there, like on the warm sand of a beach. Just that. That is all there is. That is the whole point of everything.

I hated my job, but I liked that I could do it

Sadness is pathetically limited to the range of thirst, it is just a sip of emotion, tightly buckled to a frown, quenchable.

We grew still and stared at each other. It seemed incredibly dangerous to look into each other's eyes, but we were doing it. For how long can you behold another person? Before you have to think of yourself again, like dipping the brush back in for more ink. For a very long time, you didn't need to get more ink, there was no reason to get anything else, because she was as good as me, she lived on earth like me, she suffered as I did.

They were sparkling with the old love, the greatest love of my lifetime. And they were triumphant.

We thrust our babies into the air again and again, showing them what it felt like to be a mother, to be terrifyingly in love without the option of getting off.

I smiled into the air the way I smiled when customers unbuckled their belts, and I made my eyes laugh as if everything were some version of a good time.

She was standing on the moon and if I responded I would be on the moon too, right next to her.

Tom looked across the patio, our eyes met, and for a split second I remembered my drunken nineteen-year-old face pressed against his chest at a party, his lips resting on the top of my head, murmuring, You know I wish I could.

You seem incredibly faraway to me, like someone on the other side of a lake. A dot so small that it isn't male or female or young or old; it is just smiling.

Their prayer was rage.

faces are disfigured with love

She fired him on the spot—her face shaking with regret about things she had not nipped while they were still in the bud.

But I couldn't put a face to the feeling; it was a dissolving thought, like a dream that hurries away when you approach it.

And she felt a real sense of loss. Even though she knew she had never had an accent. It was the birthmark, which in its density had lent color even to her voice. She didn't miss the birthmark, but she missed her Norwegian heritage, like learning of new relatives, only to discover they have just died.

cu fiecare dragoste tr?ie?ti alt? realitate.

Povestea ta are temperatura corpului meu.

În curtea interioar? ce ne strângea pur È™i simplu la umeri ca o hain? prea strâmt?, vântul negru È™i cald ne învelea într-un fel de tristeÈ›e creol?, parc? venit? din amintiri foarte vechi.

hacia el final, inventó una lengua nueva y desconocida, la lengua de la infelicidad, esa en la que están escritos todos los libros verdaderos.