Quotes About Emotions

After a while you tame your interior monsters, it's only natural. I don't mean that it ever stops; but it stops mattering.

I cannot get into this swamp or I will never get out; and if I start crying again I'll remember that I have no one to love, and if anyone treats me like that again, I'll kill him. Only I mustn't because they'll punish me.

like an emotional tooth-ache, bearable much of the time but with a propensity to flare up without notice and cause agony.

Bitterness is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Love' is a word that doesn't mean a damned thing to me. 'Em,' though? That's a word that means everything. I'd die for you, babe. Kill for you, too. I stood up to my club for you and I don't regret any of it, not for a minute. So, you wanted to know how I feel? I don't even have a word for what I feel, sweetheart. I just know it's really fuckin' good.

Marie's drunk texts: Marie: Horse, muss yu Marie: Why dont anser? Marie: Horse like yur name. Horsey. I'd like to rid u horsey, LOL. You sleeping? Or busy with someone? Marie: I know yur there. I bet you got a new gurl alredy. Screw you. Marie: Screw you and your slut. I hate you. Take yur club and shove it up yur ass I wudn't be yoor old lady for ten milion dollrs.

Let's be honest here," I said, throwing it all out. "We both know I'm gonna fuck up. But I'm pretty sure I love you, Em." Her breath caught. "What did you just say?" "I love you,

How 'bout this? You go ahead and feel guilty about being an accomplice, and I'll go ahead keep doing your dirty work so you don't break a fuckin' nail or something. Then tonight we'll open a bottle of wine and talk about how today made us deel. Maybe eat some chocolate while we're at it, then watch The Notebook together. That work for you?

We've been in a relationship for five years now," Puck said, his voice hard. "It wasn't normal, it wasn't exclusive . . . Hell, I don't know what the fuck it was, but we both know that's the truth. Whatever's between us, it's been there since the first night we met.

Are you ever going to forgive me?" he asked softly, catching my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Sometimes it feels like you hate me out of habit … Why does it always have to be a fight, Mel?

And take your fucking arm out from under my head. Cuddling is for closers.

Angry Ruger? Fine. Horny Ruger? I'd gotten used to that, too. But Ruger as a gentle lover? I didn't have room for that in my head, not if I wanted to survive and move forward with my life.

It's a guy thing," he told me. "We like taking care of our women. You don't let me help you, the other boys'll make fun of me and then I'll have to cry. Are you trying to make me cry, London?" He blinked at me like an innocent puppy, and I couldn't help it. I started laughing, and we both knew he'd won. "You suck," I told him. "You like it." He was right—I totally did.

My nipples hardened (traitorous little bitches) and my eyes widened.

I'm totally down with angry hate sex – especially since it's usually followed by hot makeup sex – but this is our first time. It should be sweet. Happy. It should be so fucking beautiful that unicorns dance on the ceiling and my dick shoots rainbows instead of come. We can fight later.

John Quincy Adams's bald head was a barometer of anger; the redder it got, the madder he was.)

to all of you, can you read my thoughts?" (...) "Dont look at me" miss coral said, with the genteel horror of the countless visiting abattori. "i cant even read my own

Measure the hate you feel now, and the shame. That quantity is your capacity also to love and to feel joy and to have compassion.

ghosts of the past still clutch at you in the present

Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.

Children are knives, my mother once said. They don't mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don't we, we clasp them until the blood flows.

You don't write because someone sets assignments! You write because you need to write, or because you hope someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside you or bring something back to life.

I believe that being happy is the only important thing. Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or torturous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.

Empty calories taste so good when you're down in the dumps.