Quotes About Emotions

A man does not talk to himself quite truly — not even to himself: the happiness or misery that he secretly feels proceeds from causes that he cannot quite explain, because as soon as he raises them to the level of the explicable they lose their native quality.

And as her love revived, so did her capacity for suffering. Life, more important, grew more bitter.

One is certain of nothing but the truth of one's own emotions.

We are not in the law courts. There are many ways of being a man; mine is to express what is deepest in my heart.

The abandonment of personality that is a possible prelude to love

Much love. Modified love to Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep you company, but what a bore.

The idealism and the brutality that ran through boyhood had joined at last, and twined into love.

He mourned his wife more sincerely because he mourned her seldom.

Personal relations are the important thing for ever and ever, and not this outer life of telegrams and anger.

It was nothing to him that Nature had caught up this dropped stitch in order to continue her pattern. While he had love he had kept reason.

Perhaps anything that he did would have pleased Lucy, but his awkwardness went straight to her heart; men were not gods after all, but as human and as clumsy as girls; even men might suffer from unexplained desires, and need help.

Preachers or scientists may generalize, but we know that no generality is possible about those whom we love; not one heaven awaits them, not even one oblivion.

and beneath his chivalry to Miss Quested resentment lurked, waiting its day - perhaps there is a grain of resentment in all chivalry.

It is well to be remembered with love. It is not so very dreadful to be forgotten entirely. But if we shall resent anything on earth at all, we shall resent the consecration of a deserted room.

Both times it was loneliness, and the night, and panic afterwards.

The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable of love, stood naked before her, and her moral being was abashed.

To such a height was he lifted, that without regret he could now have told her that he was her worshipper too. But what was the use of telling her? For all the wonderful things had happened.

Alas! that Henry should fade away as reality emerged, and only her love for him should remain clear, stamped with his image like the cameos we rescue out of dreams.

It is pleasant to analyse feelings while they are still only feelings, and unembodied in the social fabric

He understood nothing except that man has been created to feel pain and loneliness without help from heaven.

You don't love me, evidently. I dare say you are right not to. But it would hurt a little less if I knew why." "Because"—a phrase came to her, and she accepted it—"you're the sort who can't know any one intimately.

He had stopped loving Maurice and should have to say so plainly.

Clive, did I hurt you?' 'No.' 'My darling, I didn't mean to.' 'I'm all right.' They looked at one another for a moment before beginning new lives. 'What an ending,' he sobbed, 'what an ending.

You show so very clearly that intelligence and sympathy are superficial - good enough things in their way - they do what they can and would gladly do more; but the real thing is "being there", and the worst of it is, no two human beings can be in the same place