Quotes About Emotion

What we find to love or to hate comes to us as a substitute for something else.

But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.

He and I had already had our time, and though it was still very close and real to me, as beautiful and poignant as any place on a map, it was, in truth, another time—another country.

I'd like it if you could love me for a little while at least.

How close people could be to us when they had gone as far away as possible, to the edges of the map. How unforgettable.

I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.

He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, the tip flaring an angry red. "Isn't love a beautiful goddamn liar?

In some ways, it was as if nothing had changed. Our bodies knew each other so well we didn't have to think about how to move. But when it was over and we lay still, I felt a terrible sadness come down because I loved him as much as I ever did.

it struck me how comfortable I felt with him, as if we were old friends or had already done this many times over, him handing me pages with his heart on his sleeve - he couldn't pretend this work didn't mean everything to him - me reading his words, quietly amazed by what he could do.

But when Bumby nursed, his fist clutching the fabric of my robe, his eyes soft and bottomless and locked on mine, as if I were the very heart of his universe, I couldn't help but melt into him.

He didn't know how love managed to be a garden one moment and war the next. He was at war now, his loyalty tested at every turn.

They love me like a pack of wolves. Ernest

he grinned a grin that began in his eyes and went everywhere at once. It was devastating.

My mind knew it was all finished, but the heart never knows, or if it does, it does only at the very last possible moment.

Isn't love a beautiful goddamn liar?

Love is a beautiful liar? Beauty was a liar too.

Oh," I said, feeling punched in the windpipe.

Kiss her until she be wearied out,' " Denys repeated. "That's the best bit, isn't it, and Berkeley does it so well.

He was never yours, a voice in my head said. But what did that matter? I had lost him just the same.

The surrender in it seemed to have cut new lines around his brown eyes.

I'm almost dizzy listening to him. A big part of me would give anything to finally put away Jenny's murderer, for all the same reasons Will has, plus my own. But he means the others, too, a massive undertaking by anyone's standards.

I love you, Tatie. You're what's best about me.

This is why there is poetry. For days like these.

we never survive them, or anyone we love. Not in the