Quotes About Emotion

The joy I feel is immense; it burns inside me as though I have swallowed a piece of the sun.

I crossed the room to him. I love you, I said in a rush, afraid I would change my mind. Charles, he replied.

Glowing. The moon through a doorway. Breath hard in my throat. Heart full to burst. The moon through a doorway. And its light… Hope.

Intellect is the light which illuminates its path, and without this light, emotion changes back and forth. In fact, if emotions prevail over the intellect, it is able to obscure the light and distort the picture of the entire world…. Emotional stirrings need the control of reason and the direction of the will.

The cerebellum, she remarked, is not infrequently the seat of literary emotions

I want - I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that -categories like that- won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.

He knelt by the bed and bent over her, draining their last moment to its lees; and in the silence there passed between them the word which made all clear.

I can't love you unless I give you up.

In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.

Archer reddened to the temples but dared not move or speak: it was as if her words had been some rare butterfly that the least motion might drive off on startled wings, but that might gather a flock if it were left undisturbed.

He bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were cold and lifeless. She drew them away, and he turned to the door, found his coat and hat under the faint gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winter night bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.

Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.

She was blind and insensible to many things, and dimly knew it; but to all that was light and air, perfume and colour, every drop of blood in her responded. She loved the roughness of the dry mountain grass under her palms, the smell of the thyme into which she crushed her face, the fingering of the wind in her hair and through her cotton blouse, and the creak of the larches as they swayed to it.

And for a long while they stood side by side without speaking, each seeing the other in every line of the landscape.

but these backwaters of existence sometimes breed, in their sluggish depths, strange acuities of emotion... (Afterward)

The sudden heat of his tone made her colour mount again, not with a rush, but gradually, delicately, like the reflection of a thought stealing slowly across her heart.

But it was one of those moments when neither seemed to speak deliberately, when an indwelling voice in each called to the other across unsounded depths of feeling.

There were in her at the moment two beings, one drawing deep breaths of freedom and exhilaration, the other gasping for air in a little black prison-house of fears.

She longed to be to him something more than a piece of sentient prettiness, a passing diversion to his eye and brain.

What did it matter where she came from, or whose child she was, when love was dancing in her veins?

Do you know — I hardly remembered you? Hardly remembered me? I mean: how shall I explain? I — it's always so. Each time you happen to me all over again .

She felt the pitiful inadequacy of this, and understood, with a sense of despair, that in her inability to express herself she must give him an impression of coldness and reluctance; but she could not help it.

All the exquisite influences of the hour trembled in their veins, and drew them to each other as the loosened leaves were drawn to the earth.

His heart beat with awe: he felt that he had never before beheld love visible.