Quotes About Emotions

They saw him as he was, a full man whose griefs and solaces and talents ran together.

We are our own sculptors...Who can deny that passion and unkind thoughts show on the lines and expressions of our faces...young people seldom have these vices until they start getting old, so I love to be with them.

You know what? I was wrong. You are an idiot. My life happens to, on occasion, suck beyond the telling of it. Sometimes more than I can handle. And it's not just mine. Every single person down there is ignoring your pain because they're too busy with their own. The beautiful ones. The popular ones. The guys that pick on you. Everyone. If you could hear what they were feeling. The loneliness. The confusion. It looks quiet down there. It's not. It's deafening.

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love 'til it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other until it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood -- blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.

It is good to know, no matter how long I am gone...you do not grow up too much.

Something can be very funny and then suddenly very terrifying-very exciting, and suddenly very ridiculous. I think that's what life is like, that's what interests me.

I think it's not inaccurate to say that I had a perfectly happy childhood during which I was very unhappy.

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it. ~Spike~

In a way, we [poets] are listeners. I go to poetry because I don't have the words." —

Once there were songs for everything, Songs for planting, for growing, for harvesting, For eating, getting drunk, falling asleep, For sunrise, birth, mind-break, and war. For death (those are the heaviest songs and they Have to be pried from the earth with shovels of grief). Now all we hear are falling-in-love songs and Falling apart after falling in love songs.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

She thinks of the 4 a.m. lonelinesses that have folded her up like death, discordant, without logical and beautiful conclusion.

They lived and laughed and loved and left

I was trying not to be happy, hopeful. I did not believe I deserved happiness or even hope, if you knew my soul.

Love commingled with hate is more powerful than love. Or hate.

Later, her first intense, serious love affair, yes then she'd lost something more tangible, if undefinable: her heart? her independence? her control of, definition of, self? That first true loss, the furious bafflement of it. And never again quite so assured, confident.

Your punishment if you're a woman. Not loved enough.

But he doesn't love her. I invented that. It is a plot if you imagine people in love--the lazy looping criss crosses of love, blows, stares, tears. No. It doesn't happen. No love. People meet, touch, stare into one another's faces, shake their heads clear, move on, forget. It doesn't happen.

Time is the enemy of lovers. Worse even than the frank light of day.

Acting is the loneliest profession I know.

I was nineteen years five months old when I fell in love for the first time. This seemed to me a profound, advanced age; never can we anticipate being older than we are, or wiser; if we're exhausted, it's impossible to anticipate being strong; as, in the grip of a dream, we rarely understand that we're dreaming, and will escape by the simplest of methods, opening our eyes.

Marianne laughed. But you can't disappoint me! I don't love you.

A man will reveal his true self, or so it seems, on the tennis court.

There are some secrets so toxic you can't share. Especially if you love who it is you'd have to share with.