Quotes About Emotion

Under the ferocity Fursey heard the howling loneliness. But ferocity was winning.

Gwladus stood before her, close enough to smell. Hild didn't look up. If she did, she would pull Gwladus close and never let her go.

Anger isn't a bad thing. It's just a feeling. Learn it. Understand it.

She breathed in and out, in and out. He breathed as fast as she did. She felt the muscles sliding over his ribs. He smelt of thyme and mead and that iron-and-salt tang that made her nostrils flare.

He held her gaze this time, though it made him sweat, and this time it was she who looked away.

Sunshine and musk and dusty violets, but so faint. I breathed again: her skin, and her hair, oh dear god her hair…Tears ran down my face, my neck, dripped on my hands onto her shirt. All I had left of her. So faint. So very faint.

Angst was for the dark.

Peretur patted Bony's shoulder, and could not tell if the horse trembled or she did. Was this fear?

I had not heard her laugh before. It was subtle and warm as swirled brandy.

Her mother sighed, then smiled a slow, regretful, entirely human smile that made Hild like her.

You might have been talking gibberish, but your smile was radiant.

More and more now she could tell the difference between what was real and what was a mix of memory and nightmare; more and more she felt sure that if she spoke she would be speaking to the living, not ghosts.

Her childhood, her life, and she kept forgetting; her mother's geas kept taking it away. Then she was thinking of her mother, seeing her in the clearing on one of her good days, forget-me-not eyes dancing with light. Mother? She listened. Nothing.

Hereswith's eyes were so blue. Sister blue.

For a moment Peretur could not speak, only sit with sensation flickering up and down her belly and back, like a school of fish swimming in and out of the light.

I'm not pretty." "You don't need to be pretty. You're like lightning. Like a tide. Like a blizzard." "Something to run from." "Something to get caught up in. Somthing to remember for the rest of your life.

Her hand felt good in Peretur's, warm, more than warm.

First the half-lidded look, then the widening eyes, the black pupils swelling like ink dropped in water, swallowing the blue centres leaving the outer pleats of his eyes green and glistening, swarming like flies looking for something to eat, someone to hurt to make himself strong and safe.

A man was speaking intensely, passionately, with a strong accent, spattering words about him like matted glass. She closed her eyes. She didn't understand most of it-heresy, apostasy, Gehenna-but he seemed upset about something Eorpwald had done.

Gwladus smiled, that rich slow curve that blotted out everything but right here, right now, then leaned in and kissed her.

In the flickering ochre-and-gold light, Peretur saw the heat rise in Nimuë's cheeks, and her lips redder, and her own belly warmed, and she filled with another hunger.

She knew that scent, and her need rose like the tide.

It was like being inside a lyre, inside a drum, inside a pipe. Hild thought her head might burst.

Gwenhwyfar looked at her husband and quivered like a leashed hound with the scent.