Quotes About Emotions

Stop it! My whole life still hurts!

That night I lay in bed with the evening's images spinning before me. I felt energized, as if electrical current were passing through me. Sleep was impossible, I told myself, then dozed, lulled by all the answers to the question of why I was so sad.

The truth, as I saw it, was that Daddy wouldn't have left if she hadn't always been Miss Doom and Gloom. "Pretty?" she said. "Really?" "Yeah, pretty ugly." Her lip shook. She reached for her spray. "God, I was only kidding," I said. "Can't you even take a joke?

I wrapped my arms around my chest. I'd read somewhere that that was an instinct left over from caveman days: protect your heart.

And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.

A perfect writer would make words sing, dance, kiss, do the male and female act, bear children, weep, bleed, rage, stab, steal, fire cannon, steer ships, sack cities, charge with cavalry or infantry, or do anything that man or woman or the natural powers can do.

For who but I should understand love, with all its sorrow and joy?

Agonies are one of my changes of garments; I do not ask the wounded person how he feels . . . . I myself become the wounded person, My hurt turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.

What living and buried speech is vibrating here... what howls restrained by decorum...

If you want to know where your heart is, look to where your mind goes when it wanders.

The pleasure of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself . . . . the latter I translate into a new tongue.

The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me.

Si quieres saber donde esta tu corazón, mira donde va tu mente cuando sueñas despierto.

Nem az ellenségeim rontanak reám – részükrÅ'l büszkeségemet nem fenyegeti kár; De a szeretÅ'k, akiket önzetlenül szeretek, – lássátok, hogy uralkodnak rajtam! Íme! rajtam, az erejétÅ'l megfosztotton, aki örökkön támasz nélküli és örökkön kiszolgáltatott! A legnyomorultabban csúszkálok elÅ'ttük a földön.

I am the poet of the body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

Walt Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a kosmos, / Disorderly fleshy and sensual....eating drinking and breeding, / No sentimentalist....no stander above men and women or apart / from them....no more modest than immodest.

Such an animal will swing indecisively from one worry to the next, giving a nip at each fear in turn, displaying the fickleness of despair.

Loneliness is when those you love are happy without you.

Everything in life is made up...You make up that you are happy. You make up that you are sad. You make up that you are in love. If you don't make up your own life, who's going to make it up for you? It's bad enough when you die and everybody can make up their own stories about you. —Mr. Hooft

I wanted to love my father. I wanted to, but I didn't. Sometimes I didn't even like him. he hadn't been a guy you could really get next to, because in a way he was never where you thought he was.

I mean, if you think about doing things to people like that, if you think about it too much, it gets all up in you and you can't control it after a while. Then they really got you.

One purpose of these notebooks was to record interesting scenes, especially those involving people and emotions. "As you go about town," he wrote in one of them, "constantly observe, note, and consider the circumstances and behavior of men as they talk and quarrel, or laugh, or come to blows."1 For that purpose, he kept a small notebook hanging from his belt.

Jobs did not know that Sculley had told Eisenstat he wanted to quit, but by then it didn't matter. Overnight, he had changed his mind and decided to stay. Despite the blowup the day before, he was still eager for Jobs to like him. So he agreed to meet the next afternoon.