Quotes About Emotions

HUSBAND: Is something wrong? BETHIE: Why--why do you ask? HUSBAND: You looked so lonely, suddenly. As if you'd forgotten I'm here.

I've never thought of writing as the mere arrangement of words on the page but the attempted embodiment of a vision; a complex of emotions; raw experience. The effort of memorable art is to evoke in the reader or spectator emotions appropriate to that effort.

In all marriages there is the imbalance: one who loves more than the other. One who licks wounds in secret, the rust-taste of blood.

I can manifest my neurotical emotions, emancipate an epicureal instinct, and elaborate on my heterosexual tendencies.

That I was sleeping at a time when my husband was dying is so horrible a thought, I can't confront it.

How strange it is, to be walking away. Is it possible that I am really going to leave Ray—here? Is it possible that he won't be coming home with me in another day or two, as we'd planned? Such a thought is too profound for me to grasp. It's like fitting a large unwieldy object in a small space. My brain hurts, trying to contain it.

But so like Hollywood people, who played at the emotions they truly felt. Or maybe the emotions they truly felt could only be expressed in play?

But you are a solace just by existing, vividly in my thoughts if not here before me.

It is a terrible thing to feel that you might break down, you might utter a confession that could not then be retrieved.

If I could open a vein. Not to inject any shit, I will never weaken like that again, but just to feel the kick of it, the old memory. So this numbness lifts. So I could get back there easier.

You people who have survived childhood don't remeber any longer what it was like. You think children are whole, uncomplicated creatures, and if you split them in two with a handy axe there would be all one substance inside, hard candy. But it isn't hard candy so much as a hopeless seething lava of all kinds of things, a turmoil, a mess. And once the child starts thinking about this mess he begins to disintegrate as a child and turns into something else--an adult, an animal.

And I like your laugh, Sabbath; it's inaudible.

Were you wounded when your marriage collapsed? When your love collapsed? Or does love never "collapse," only just fade gradually away?

Still, I am angry with him. I am very angry with him. With my poor dead defenseless husband, I am furious as I was rarely—perhaps never—furious with him, in life. How can I forgive you, you've ruined both our lives.

Let them write angry letters to the Government- they haven't been loved enough, there has been some crime

A man is fearful of lonely in a woman

How exhausted I am suddenly!—though this has been Ray's best day in the hospital so far, and we are feeling—almost—exhilarated.

Why I came to have such quarrels with my mother, to hate and wish dead my mother, I don't know. There was hardly anything she ever told me didn't turn out to be true.

We are stimulated to emotional response, not by works that confirm our sense of the world, but by works that challenge it.

The mysteries of the female sex! We men can never hope to fathom your depths, but only try not to drown in them.

Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another's skin, another's voice, another's soul." —

He had no idea of my misery. It would have surprised him to think that I was a human creature with a soul.

of all psychic conditions, anxiety verging upon paranoia/hysteria is perhaps the most contagious, even among men.

My wish is to live a life in which emotions come slowly as clouds on a calm day. You see the approach, you contemplate the beauty of the cloud, you observe it passing, you let it go. You do not dwell upon what you have seen, you do not regret it, you are content to understand that the identical cloud will never come again—no matter how beautiful, unique, you do not weep at its loss.