Quotes About Emotion

There are consolations that the strongest human love is powerless to give. (page 330)

Love was long over, but what was lost to him he still loved so harshly that it prevented him from listening even to its trace.

Even as an infant, he hated being held. Every hug is a small, soft jail.

Olivia leans in. Are you okay? His reply sticks in his wide, coprophagic grin.

I don't know any sad songs. Except for the funny ones.

And what do all good stories do? They kill you a little. They turn you into something you weren't.

Forest has succumbed to chemically sustained silviculture. Four billion years of evolution, and that's where the matter will end. Politically, practically, emotionally, intellectually: Humans are all that count, the final word. You cannot shut down human hunger. You cannot even slow it. Just holding steady costs more than the race can afford.

The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. —RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Rage, the radical tip of a grief that time will never root out.

People. So much pain.

There are consolations that the strongest human love is powerless to give.

Musicians speak of bliss, but that's just to throw the uninitiated off the scent. There is no bliss; there is only control.

Sih Hsuin gasps. "Look the color!" The color of greed, envy, freshness, growth, innocence. Green, green, green, green, and green.

The scent retrieves all kinds of things he once knew and reminds him of all those things he never will.

Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you?

The sweetest sounds I'll ever hear are still inside my head.

It's not the idea that we hear, as much as the positive or negative energy behind it.

Though here his voice faltered, because he knew as well as she did what came next, what words came next. If he could speak them, he might even convince her they were true, as his father had convinced his mother that Browning summer. It was the worst lie there was, imprisoning and ultimately embittering the hearer, playing upon her terrible need to believe. He could feel the I love you forming on his lips. Would he have said it if she hadn't interrupted?

She gave him a smile in which hope and knowledge were going at it, bare-knuckled, equally and eternally matched.

What an absolute folly love was. Talk about a flawed concept.

Was anything in the world truer than that intuitive leap of the heart?

My mother has always been the sort of woman whose emotional state can be intuited from the volume at which she rattles kitchen utensils.

She hadn't so much spoken the words as let them out of their cages….

If she wanted to go back to Boston so damn bad, she should just do it. He said this knowing full well she wouldn't, for it was the particular curse of the Whiting men that their wives remained loyal to them out of spite. By