Quotes About Emotions

Like many hard-bitten cynics, he cried easily and was always falling into fluttery love with his type, clean-cut Yalies.

If I could only remember that the days were, not bricks to be laid row on row, to be built into a solid house, where one might dwell in safety and peace, but only food for the fires of the heart.

Love is so fragile and so often fatal. I am amazed when people are brave enough to risk it.

people liking you or not liking you is an accident and is to do with them and not you. That goes for love too, only more so.

That is the mystery about writing: it comes out of afflictions, out of the gouged times, when the heart is cut open.

I was lonelier than I should be, for a woman in love, or half in love.

It was the first time that I came face to face with madness and feared it and was fascinated by it.

Brush those tears from your eyes And try and realize That from now on I'll always be true. I went away But I didn't mean to stay And I will regret it until my dying day.

It's not love's going hurts my days But that it went in little ways.

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.

A ghost in marble of a girl you knew Who would have loved you in a day or two.

I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind...

Nobody speaks to me. People fall in love with me, and annoy me and distress me and flatter me and excite me and—and all that sort of thing. But no one speaks to me. I sometimes think that no one can. Can you?

Tis not love's going hurts my days, But that it went in little ways

And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with you All through my life?—sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing—oh, worst of all things!—the same head?— And, when I feed myself, feeding you, too?

Strong sun, that bleach The curtains of my room, can you not render Colourless this dress I wear?— This violent plaid Of purple angers and red shames; the yellow stripe Of thin but valid treacheries; the flashy green of kind deeds done Through indolence, high judgments given in haste; The recurring checker of the serious breach of taste?

You leave me much against my will.

Thursday - 1892-1950 And if I loved you Wednesday, Well, what is that to you? I do not love you Thursday— So much is true. And why you come complaining Is more than I can see. I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what Is that to me?

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

After all, my erstwhile dear, My no longer cherished, Need we say it was not love, Just because it perished?

I love humanity but I hate people.

You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It's only that.

pues sé que el subconsciente, además de desvirtuar nuestra infancia, tergiversar nuestros afectos, recordarnos lo que ansiamos olvidar, revelarnos nuestra abyecta condición y destrozarnos, en suma, la vida, cuando se le antoja y a modo de compensación, hace las veces de despertador.

El deseo es el recuerdo del placer, el miedo es el recuerdo del dolor" Cuentos para adultos infantiles