Quotes About Emotions

single insincere phoneme, piss me off? Why can't I ignore her

The language of grief is an impoverished one in the South. It is admired only if it's done in silence.

an untranslatable potpourri of grunts and monosyllables, punctuated only by Prophet's beautifully effusive smiles.

surface my wife's most vicious

The language of grief is an impoverished one in the South. Sorrow is admired only if it's done in silence.

The music acted as a marinade in my weary spirit.

thought that, at birth, American men are allotted just as many tears as American women. But because we are forbidden to shed them, we die long before women do, with our hearts exploding or our blood pressure rising or our livers eaten away by alcohol because that lake of grief inside us has no outlet. We, men, die because our faces were not watered enough.

I realized that words were sometimes nothing more than notes you wrote to your deepest self as you fought to articulate the splendor and the magic and the ineluctable sense of loss that you felt in the swift, disturbing hours.

one afflicted with all the hurt and burden and grandeur of memory. I wondered if they could see the difference.

When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep her.

Be happy for those who are happy, be compassionate toward those who are unhappy, be delighted for those who are virtuous, and be indifferent toward the wicked.

Be patient, as you must always be patient with new pale seeds buried in the dark ground. When you are stronger, you can begin to think again. But now is the time to feel.

But you had a right to be angry." "Yes. But not to hurt those I love, or myself.

He could pick my heart like a rose and watch it wither in his hand. Sometimes I think he is like that. At other times I think he is as simple and golden and generous as our father's fields. And then I see things in his eyes - things that I have never looked at, and I know that I have walked a short and easy road out of my past, while he has walked a thousand roads to meet me. I know Perrin's past; the same road runs into his future. I don't know Corbet.

You--cannot ever be certain of those you love--that they will not hurt you, even loving you. But to make me certain to love you, will be to take away any love I might give you freely.

Kir stood close to his father, watching. He seemed, Peri realized, finally becalmed; already he looked more like his mother, as if he were relinquishing his human experience. He found her looking at him wistfully; he gave her a sea-smile. She swallowed a briny taste of sadness in her throat. Already he was leaving her.

I don't know you. Then why did you do that for me? Because you are so full of wonder. After what I-- After-- He gestured, his eyes hidden; deep lines ran down his cheeks like claw marks. That seems very precious to me now. How could I not give you such a small thing?

He glimpsed her familiar face then, very clearly, vivid and flushed with passion. 'Don't do that,' he warned. 'Don't look like that.' 'Like what?' 'Don't feel. It's a stronger spell than the sorceress's.

Nobody, living or dead, makes things easy even when you love them. Especially then.

For the longest second imaginable, my mind was a black hole, as if my emotions had sucked away the rational part of my brain and left a cavernous skull full of nothing but fear. I can remember that terror now, and can visualize the scene as if in a photograph: emerald-green pasture, black-and-white Luke in full stride just where he ought to be, and a white bullet of doom streaking across the grass toward him.

What is given from the heart reaches the heart.

I hate jealousy. At least it's its own punishment; it makes me feel like hell.

I was small enough to mind that Rudy had a good friend other than me.

Misery alternates with euphoria.