Quotes About Emotions

And Richard was silent, for the truth Jerott had seen touched him, too, for a moment before he thrust it aside. He said, instead, 'Once, I returned, by mistake, a present you gave me.' As when he had come in, fresh from the wind, surprise and pleasure roused, for an instant, all the colour in his brother's face. Francis Crawford said, 'I have kept it, in case one day you might want it. If you do … It makes worthwhile this part, at least, of the journey.

I know,' said Danny Hislop. 'I want to see them being fond of one another. I want to see everybody brazening it out. And then I want to see what your petit François does to you when the party's over.

You are the only person with a shaky interest in ethics and the emotional stability of a quince seed in a cup of lukewarm water.....

He never said what he meant. He never said what he meant.… All through their encounters, their clashes, their crossing of swords she had known that and learned a little to deal with it, and to translate, if only to herself, what lay under the stream of hurtful, facile words. And, suddenly, this time she felt panic, a seizure of fear so unexpected that she stared at him, quite unseeing, listening to the tone of the words. And then she saw what was behind it, and sat down.

It's time you thought less of your emotional feather bed and more of other people's.

My dear, there is no blame, where there lives a passion like that: do we not know it? Rest at peace. We are your children; and we love you.

I had no expectations,' Philippa said. The tears stood still on her face. 'This is one lesson I know by heart already.

Absence is absence, whatever causes it. It is no more or less an affront to you. I did say, as I remember, that I would try to do what you wished me to do. And that you must forgive me if I failed.

You are offered love and won't accept it except on your own terms. That isn't tragic. It's the word you've just mentioned—it's childish.

Jerott, who had wished to be alone for his own sake as well as for Lymond's, closed his eyes as he sat under the orange trees, and prayed for Francis Crawford, who did not recognize love, and for himself, who did.

Come in,' he said. 'You can use Adam's rooms.' His hand, moving upwards, drew the fair, tangled hair clear of Lymond's eyes and checked, at the shudder that ran jarring through from his fingertips. Lymond dropped his hands. He made no protest. He did not look up. But unimpeded at last, Jerott could see the look on his face and give it, sickeningly, its correct interpretation.

The pain beating in his brows was beyond belief. He wanted only to go while he was still master of himself; before this primitive desire to devastate them both should overpower him.

I should rather, Philippa, marry where there is no love than marry and find love turn to jealousy.

If you're going to marry the youth, I shan't touch him.' 'But you will be nasty to him,' said Philippa gloomily. 'You know you can't help it.' 'I shall probably be nasty to him,' Lymond agreed firmly. 'But I shan't touch him.

It was odd, Adam thought, that Lymond's harshest opponent should be his brother, and that each man had such power to hurt the other.

There was a brief silence, during which Philippa Somerville fought and won a battle to keep her eyes dry. Lymond said, 'I give you my word. It was a lie.' Philippa looked at him. 'And I don't deserve that ,' she said.

Extraordinary, is it not, how he cannot bear music?

There was nothing casual about the blue eyes fixed on the downbent blue gaze of the child. Francis Crawford's face in this fleeting moment of privacy was filled with ungovernable feeling: of shock and of pain and of a desire beyond bearing: the desire of the hart which longs for the waterbrook, and does not know, until it sees the pool under the trees, for what it has thirsted.

Will you pack up all your cold-boiled emotions, and do what the hell you are told?

So long as you allow yourself that kind of self-indulgence, you can expect to have headaches. If you can face anything, then face up to the one basic fact in all this. You told Míkál once, in Thessalonika, that you have never loved anyone. That was a lie. You feel for Sybilla quite as much as she has always felt for you.

A mind responsive to beauty is a storehouse with many rooms; words, sounds, textures, all the nobler exercises of the senses leave some image filed and folded to be summoned at need. There, too, the brutal images are kept: the sights and smells and hurts, real and imagined, which the responsive mind accepts and has bedded deep.

Her ripostes, on the whole, had been more successful than his. Or perhaps she, too, was feeling like this.

I tell you that whatever infatuation you have fallen into, you cannot keep that man at your side. He belongs where he belongs and he will arrive there, no matter how deep you bury him. Best free him at once and save the heart ache.

I think it would be truer to say,' Philippa said, 'that both of us at the time had our reasons for hurting you.