Quotes About Emotion

Yet she was a woman who bravely played the game of life anyhow—and allowed the game of life to somewhat play her. She was ironic, but not cold. The effect was a survivor who had not lost the ability to feel.

itself. Although we never lived together or shared a bed, he was always a part of me. I saved stories for him all week, so I would have good things to tell him. I asked for his opinions, because I respected his ethics. I came to cherish his face precisely because it was his. Even his burn scars became beautiful to my eye.

By unnerving definition, anything that the heart has chosen for its own mysterious reasons it can always unchoose later - again, for its own mysterious reasons. And a shared private heaven can quickly descend into a failed private hell.

He doesn't speak. Instead, he grasps me by the collar of my coat and presses his lips to mine. Kiaran kisses me deeply, with an urgency I never thought him capable of. He kisses me like he knows he's going to die. He kisses me like the world is going to end.

I managed to fall in love with him within the space of just a few hours, which is a model of efficiency. (The young can do that kind of thing, as you must know, without difficulty. In fact, passionate love, executed in short bursts, is the natural condition of the young..)

como dice García Márquez, se parece al amor, pero sin los problemas del amor.

The time we spent together happened outside of the world, is how it felt.

The fact that I get to spend my life making objectively useless things means that I don't live in a postapocalyptic dystopia. It means I am not exclusively chained to the grind of mere survival. It means we still have enough space left in our civilization for the luxuries of imagination and beauty and emotion—and even total frivolousness.

To feel physically comfortable with someone else's body is not a decision you can make. It has very little to do with how two people think or act or talk or even look. The mysterious magnet is either there, buried somewhere deep behind the sternum, or it is not. "To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced life.

he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure; the only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying, the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving

My friend Kate once went to a concert of Mongolian throat singers who were traveling through New York City on a rare world tour. Although she couldn't understand the words to their songs, she found the music almost unbearably sad. After the concert, Kate approached the lead Mongolian singer and asked, What are your songs about? He replied, Our songs are about the same things that everyone else's songs are about: lost love, and somebody stole your fastest horse.

All human beings have their otherness and it is that which cries out to the heart.

Allo, darlin'. Oi'm so glad to see it's love at first sight for you, too.

I watched you for years," she whispered. The tears were drying on her cheeks, and heat was building within her. If he would just touch her. Touch her there. "I watched you and you never saw me.

I love you," he whispered as he thrust again. And again. Each movement controlled. Each small movement devastating in its effect. "I love you." She lost all concept of time. She lost her place and surroundings. She couldn't remember who he was—who she was. She lost her mind.

He was aware, suddenly, of the chill condensing clammily on his skin, the smell of damp cobblestones, of the very air flowing in and out of his lings. But most of all he was aware of the woman, this woman, his woman, standing so proudly, waiting patiently for him, only him. He walked toward her and knew with every fiber of his being that he walked to life itself.

He pulled back, staring at her in the dim carriage, his brows still knit. Megs? Oh, right. She still hadn't told him. Well, it was his own fault; his mouth was simply delicious. I love you, she said, speaking clearly so that there might be no confusion.

Ye know as well as I that I lost whatever heart I once had long ago," Mick replied without emotion, a simple statement of fact. "If the babe lives, or if she dies, it makes no difference to me. I'll still eat sweetmeats on the morrow and taste the sugar on me tongue, still f*ck women and feel the pleasure in me bollocks. And, Charlie—mark me well, now—I'll still kill ye and laugh in yer ugly face as I do it.

He grinned, but a bead of sweat ran down his temple. "Then with your permission.

His face had gone still and for a moment her heart sank and she had to fortify herself for a battle. But then his mouth quirked like that (...) and she knew even before he said anything else that it was all going to be fine--more than fine. It was going to be wonderful .

You should leave her entirely. Caire's mouth twisted humourlessly. I find I cannot. Why? St. John shook his head. She isn't even your type. What is my type? St. John glanced away. They both knew well enough the kind of women Caire favoured. There's something about her, Caire said in a low voice. She cares for everyone about her, yet neglects herself. I want to be the one who cares for her.

Maximus," she whispered, all moonlight and strength. "I love you. Never forget that.

She could hear him swallow, and then his face was against hers, his own damp. I'm so lucky you would have me, my Phoebe, as my wife and my love. You've brought the sun into my lonely, gray life. (Captain James Trevellion)

She pulled back and murmured, "I'm still mad at you." "Are you?" His wounded voice had descended into Stygian depths. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her jaw. "Yes." She yanked at his hair in emphasis. He grunted, but her grip didn't prevent him from lowering his mouth to hers again. He nipped at her lips and then licked at them, softening the sting. "I'll have to see what I can do to regain your good graces.