Quotes About Emotions

Love doesn't always come barreling down on you like a train engine. Sometimes it sneaks up on you like spring overtaking winter. The chill winds begin to warm and suddenly the trees have leaves and the flowers are blooming.

But God gave us tears because he knew that sometimes we would need to let out some of our sadness.

She understood that grief is not neat and orderly; it does not follow any rules. Time does not heal it. Rather time insists on passing and as it does, grief changes but does not go away.

Time passes and I am still not through it. Grief isn't something you get over. You live with it. You go on on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a deadline, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me.

When you read a book, and who you are when you read it, makes it matter or not.

The idea of the book that matters most," Kiki said. "Because i think it's like impossible to pick such a book. When you read a book, and who you are when you read it, makes it matter or not. Like if you're unhappy and you read, I don't know, On the Road or The Three Musketeers, and that book changes how you fell or how you think, then it matters the most. At that time.

The only language she could speak was grief. How could he not know that? Instead, she said, "I love you." She did. She loved him. But even that didn't feel like anything anymore.

Memories are fragile things to hold, but many times, it's what we have.

Loving him was perhaps like peering into the rain—a sort of sightlessness, akin to stumbling about in a storm, grabbing the things you want to find, and letting the others wash away.

Did love always come joined with a certain amount of trepidation? Along with the good feelings, was there always dread that something wouldn't go right or that love could be lost? Love and fear seemed twined like stalks of a grapevine—so close they couldn't be separated.

I'd become a woman who dreamed of yelling at people who didn't even know how infuriating I found them.

If you have love in your life, it can make up for a great many things that are missing. If you don't have love in your life, no matter what else there is, it's not enough.

Hanging onto resentment is letting someone you despise live rent-free in your head.

If you have love in your life it can make up for a great many things you lack. If you don't have it, no matter what else there is, it's not enough.

People who drink to drown their sorrow should be told that sorrow knows how to swim.

colonial entailments do not have a life of their own. They wrap around contemporary problems; adhere in the logics of governance; are plaited through racialized distinctions; and hold tight to the less tangible emotional economies of humiliations, indignities, and resentments

a focus on the "supremacy of reason" as the master trope of colonial critique has displaced the enduring affective work that such rationalities perform.

The simple truth is this: Most humans are very much alike. The simple and obvious truth is that there are very few variables to what a person might do, think, fear or desire in any given situation.

Olivia was moody. Moody wasn't a word with which she was very familiar, but if it meant that her moods swung back and forth for no reason at all, and that she felt crabby and wanted to be alone more often than she felt content and friendly, and that she was often tempted to slam her bedroom door - preferably in someone's face - well, then, moody described perfectly the way she'd been feeling lately.

when you take fright and add to it ignorance, you get hatred. That's a very unattractive equation.

I call them my kith and kin: earth is in my body, air moves my breath and stirs my intellect, fire is the spark of energy within me and my passion, and water is in my bodily liquids and my emotions.

You're depressed, not crazy. It's not insane to be depressed in this world. It's more sane than being happy. I never trust those upbeat individuals who grin no matter what's going on. Those are the ones with a screw loose, if you ask me.

When an old person dies," Kent said, "even if that person is wonderful, he or she is still somewhat ready, and so are the people who loved them. They're like old trees, whose roots have loosened in the ground. They fall gently. But when someone like your aunt Sylvie dies—before her time—her roots get pulled out and the ground is ripped up. Everyone nearby is in danger of being knocked over.

It feels unkind that they are shoving their emotions at him when his own sadness and fear are so vast that he has to hide from them.