Quotes About Emotions

That something so small could be so beautiful. Worth so much. Only strongest people can turn away from feelings like that.

Here was the worst curse: he managed to force the dream from his conscious mind often enough that when it returned to him (opening the pantry door, say, recalling the sweep of floodwater), the experience of it became fresh and bleeding once more.

In the dormitory window one night, Frederick rest his forehead against the glass. "I hate them. I hate them for that.

he could feel his hope wilting.

Marie-Laure is glad to hear a smile enter his voice. But beneath it she can sense his thoughts fluttering like trapped birds.

Nostos, yes. The act of homecoming, a safe arrival. Of course, mapping a single English word onto a Greek one is almost always slippery. A nostos also means a song about a homecoming.

Jutta drags herself closer; she watches her brother with outsize eyes. A piano chases the violins. Then woodwinds. The strings sprint, woodwinds fluttering behind. More instruments join in. Flutes? Harps? The song races, seems to loop back over itself. "Werner?" Jutta whispers. He blinks;

A torrent of language, a spring off the near-infinite stream of confessions he had harbored half his life, all of hers.

Toward midnight he sat in the Raney Playground swings with his broken, disloyal heart continuing to pump behind his ribs. Maybe fifty feet away his daughter was in her bed, reeling, thinking it out, a thousand betrayals and loves and resentments riding the synapses between brain and heart and back again.

Werner thinks of home all the time. He misses the sound of rain on the zinc roof above his dormer; the feral energy of the orphans; the scratchy singing of Frau Elena as she rocks a baby in the parlor. The smell of the coking plant coming in under the dawn, the first reliable smell of every day. Mostly he misses Jutta: her loyalty, her obstinacy, the way she always seems to recognize what is right.

He was failing at everything important. A room away his daughter was sitting with her face in her hands and he could not go to her.

When they were first married and Albert went away on trips for work, Jutta would wake in the predawn hours and remember those first nights after Werner left for Schulpforta and feel all over again the searing pain of his absence.

Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.

Algumas tristezas nunca deixam de existir.

Somwhere across town she was standing at a sink or walking into a closet, his name stowed somewhere in the pleated neurons of her brain, echoing up one dendrite in a billion: David, David.

Algumas vezes, eu me apanho encarando o mar e me esqueço de minhas tarefas. Parace grande o suficiente para conter qualquer coisa que as pessoas possam sentir.

A single fruit fly in his wine can send a black thread twisting through his mood that lingers for days. Widow Theodora says that Kalaphates needs compassion, that the remedy to every woe is prayer, and after dark Maria kneels in their cell in front of the icon of Saint Koralia, her lips moving silently, sending devotions up past the beams.

A moment like this--the four of them around the table under the sad, dusty kitchen lamp--could never accommodate all the things she had to say.

The heart heals but never completely.

Somewhere, someone is figuring out how to push back the hood of grief, but Marie-Laure cannot. Not yet.

A veces me descubro mirándolo y me olvido completamente de mis obligaciones. Es lo bastante grande como para contener en su interior todas las cosas que un hombre puede sentir a lo largo de toda una vida.

Over time his images of the baby, like photographs handled too often, had worn down and creased, lost their definition.

Then the women start up again, scheming, and gabbling. Madame Manec brushes Marie-Laure's hair in long absentminded strokes. "Seventy-six years old," she whispers, "and I can still feel like this? Like a little girl with stars in her eyes?

even in the midst of grief the mind grapples with a hundred impressions: a pain below the heart, an odor on the breeze.