Quotes About Emotions

popularity, my happiness and sense of worth depend to no small extent upon my skill in dealing with people.

Long they stood together, peering over the gray unresting water. John, she said, does it make every one—unhappy when they study and learn lots of things? He paused and smiled. I am afraid it does, he said. And, John, are you glad you studied? Yes, came the answer, slowly but positively. She watched the flickering lights upon the sea, and said thoughtfully, I wish I was unhappy,—and—and, putting both arms about his neck, I think I am, a little, John.

Life treads on life, and heart on heart; We press too close in church and mart To keep a dream or grave apart. MRS. BROWNING.

The shadowy, formless thing—the temptation of Hate, that hovered between him and the world—grew fainter and less sinister. It did not wholly fade away, but diffused itself and lingered thick at the edges.

John," she said, "does it make every one—unhappy when they study and learn lots of things?" He paused and smiled. "I am afraid it does," he said. "And, John, are you glad you studied?" "Yes," came the answer, slowly but positively. She watched the flickering lights upon the sea, and said thoughtfully, "I wish I was unhappy,—and—and," putting both arms about his neck, "I think I am, a little, John.

When these long telephone silences come, it is a sure sign that love is over.

We shake hands and part good comrades. But I have to get out of here, good fellows or no good fellows. Too much fellow feeling makes me nervous, to tell the truth.

If you risked love, it took you wherever you wanted to go. If you repressed it, you ended up unhappy.

Fuck you, I said. Uh-oh. There's that angry word.

I didn't respond to him. Couldn't speak at all. Couldn't look at his self-mutilation--not even the clean, bandaged version of it. Instead, I looked at my own rough, stained house painter's hand. They seemed more like puppets than hands. I had no feelings in it either.

She paused, cleared her throat twice, and I suddenly realized she was crying. If you want to love someone, then go right ahead. I know what love feel like; you didn't invent love. But the Lord Almighty doesn't give out promises just because you love someone. Love only gets you so far.

As my father talked, tears dripped down the side of his face like candle wax. The sight shocked me; until that moment, I had assumed men were as incapable of crying as they were of having babies.

Blood banged inside my head. I loved my brother. I hated him. There was no solution to who he was. No getting back who he had been.

People are not like Tupperware, with their lids on securely.

Your museum of pain. Your sanctuary of justifiable indignation.

So maybe that's what love means. Having the capacity to forgive the one who wronged you, no matter how deep the hurt was. At any rate, I'm glad she doesn't know about the corpse that's down there in that well. I've spared her that much.

I'd gone to her directly from Dr. Shaw's office - gone without an appointment to find out if happiness was a football you caught or something more complicated, something you had to invent.

People waste their happiness—that's what makes me sad. Everyone's so scared to be happy.

Maybe you inherited craziness like you did brown eyes or frizzy hair, I thought. Maybe you just went nuts and did that sort of thing if your mother got a divorce and a new boyfriend.

Motherless children have a hard time when the mother is gone. That

People waste their happiness...Everyone's so scared to be happy.

Love was always the thing that did that-smashed into you, left you raw. The deeper you loved, the deeper it hurt.

He was as kind and slow with me as he'd been that first summer and I pushed away all my anger and hurt and distrust because he owed me love.

thought about how love was always the thing that did that—smashed into you, left you raw. The deeper you loved, the deeper it hurt. .