Quotes About Emotions

The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house,

My little brother is in rehab. My little brother is in rehab. I feel like these words are written on my arms whenever I push up my sleeves, written on my cheeks whenever they relax out of my fake smile. They want to come out of my mouth, all the time. When I am called upon in class, or when someone says, "Hey, what's up?" - that's what I want to answer. "My little brother's in rehab." But I never do.

They can't beat when I'm unhappy. They try and fix it; they'd fix the whole world if they could, just to make me feel better-even when it's none of their business. It's one of the many hazards of being an only child.

But you can be talky and paint your fingernails and still be very sad. In fact, you can be talky and paint your fingernails to protect other people from how sad you are.

Sometimes people are mean because they feel insecure about themselves.

I sound like an idiot. But what else am I supposed to say? My parents are getting a divorce? I'm practically flunking drawing and literature? My best friend's barely speaking to me and changes the subject when I ask where she was on Saturday night? I think about you all the time and I want your body?

Of course I'm angry," I say. "Two years of disappearance. Never calling and not writing back and making everything worse by not dealing. Now you're all, Ooh, I thought I'd never see you again, and holding my hand and Everyone hugs you but me and half-naked perimeter walking. It's severely suboptimal, Gat. If that's the word you want to use." His face falls. "Damn. It sounds bad when you put it that way.

I'd think of these images - people dying, a city drowning - instead of thinking about Rosemary, dying, drowning.

It makes it hard to be alive, some days. A lot of times I wish I were dead, I truly do, just to make the pain stop.

She would love herself, even with her sadness and her distractibility, her defenses and her failures.

Every time Gat said these things, so casual and truthful, so oblivious—my veins opened. My wrists split. I bled down my palms. I went light-headed. I'd stagger from the table or collapse in quiet shameful agony, hoping no one in the family would notice. Especially not Mummy.

And in the end, after he broke up with me and I was sad and mental, I came to the Vineyard and one day I thought: Eff you, Mr. Isaac. I'm not so very ignorant. I just know stuff about stuff that you dismiss as unimportant and useless. Does that make sense?

Think of your happy memories. Know they are still in you. They are part of you. And maybe even they ARE you.

People befriend me because they think I'm happy. I'm not even sure why they think I'm happy, but they do. I get distracted, and I laugh, and I turn something on in myself that makes me, maybe, fun to be with. And I'm just— I want you to know up front that I'm false advertising.

At least for today. Let's pretend I'm not a mess, let's pretend you're not angry. Let's act like we're friends and forget what happened

It is possible people are curious about us because we do not show them our hearts. It is possible that we enjoy the way people are curious about us.

So this Estella breaks the boy's heart?" "Many times over. On purpose. Estella doesn't know how to do anything else. Breaking hearts is her only power in the world.

Jule had loved Immie Sokoloff as well as she knew how to love anyone. She really had.

It doesn't matter if one of us is desperately, desperately in love. So much in love, that equally desperate measures must be taken

Johnny leapt off the boat and threw his own vest on the dock. First thing, he ran up to Mirren and kicked her. Then he kicked me. Kicked the twins. Walked over to our grandparents and stood up straight. "Good to see you, Granny and Granddad. I look forward to a happy summer.

I thought she was a conniving, lying, man-stealing bitch, and I hoped she would fall in a volcano and die a horrible lava death.7 But

and it feels like the universe is reorganizing itself, and I know any anger we felt has disappeared.

I do want people to feel sorry for me. I do. And then I don't. I do. And then I don't.

It's the opposite of love." Me. Talking without planning to. "Hmm? How so?" "People think of hearts when they think of love, but a heart is a bloody organ in the body. It doesn't have any emotions. It's like a metaphor for love that has nothing to do with what love actually is.