Quotes About Emotions

You become angry because something or someone has done something against your expectations.

Resentment and anger are not good for the soul. They are foul things.

I have thought about punching people out. Sometimes, I've thought, 'Why don't I just act on that impulse?' But then, I've never hit anybody in anger. Hey! I've never hit anybody for fun.

How can there be such anger in the minds of the gods?

The sounds of anger are not melodic.

Whatever she says to you, it's your job not to let her make you mad.

When you become angry at someone, your anger will actually have a power. You can hit somebody in a non-physical way and it can injure that being.

No relationship can continue very long at its highest emotional pitch. But fidelity prepares us for the return of these moments

But grief is not a force and has no power to hold. You only bear it. Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery.

but we didn't speak of what was bothering us the most. Maybe we didn't need to. It couldn't have been "talked out." It had to be worn out.

That grief should come and bring joy with it was not something I felt able, or even called upon, to sort out or understand. I accepted the grief. I accepted the joy. I accepted that they came to me out of the same world.

And so I learned about grief, and about the absence and emptiness that for a long time make grief unforgettable.

Counting noses, Bess missed Andy and went to look for him. She found him finally in the dining room, in the corner at the end of the sideboard, crying. The knowledge of it passed over us all. He didn't know, as we grownups knew, what the war meant and might mean. He had only understood that what we were that day was lovely and could not last.

To be the mother of a grown-up child means that you don't have a child anymore, and that is sad. When the grown-up child leaves home, that is sadder.

The love he bore to me was his own, but also it was a love that had been borne to him, by people he knew, people I now knew, people he loved. That, I think, is what put tears in his eyes when he looked at me. He must have wondered if I would love those people too. Well, as it turned out, I did. And I would know them as he had never known them, for longer than he knew them. I knew them old, in their final years and days. I know them dead.

we had better bear in mind also something that I am not the first or the smartest writer to notice: that for the making and sustenance of movements hatred is more effective than love.

Whoa! she says as I plow into her. What are you DOING? Get off me! I hang on tight. Can't a girl just hug her big sister? She stops fighting me. Are you dying? Am I dying? Did Grandma die? I laugh. No one died. Then get off!

think I have sort of an odd aversion, almost like a chemical sensitivity, when it comes to other people's enthusiasm.

In the evening I finished reading a book, and because I was feeling so alone, I buried the book on the edge of the forest with a borrowed spade.

Here you seem to have won your aunt's affection; I think I served you well there, for I believe she would do anything to spite me.

The first time you ignored me, I was upset. Then I got mad at you. I yelled. You acted as if I didn't exist. It was weird and confusing.

If I look into the wings, I can see Mom standing like a statue, Medea or Lady Macbeth, one of those tragic horrors, her face zombified by the steely reflected light from my funeral pyre.

Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons. They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.

The best men tell you the truth because they think you can take it; the worst men either try to preserve you in some innocent state with their false protection, or are 'brutally honest.' When someone tells, lets you think for yourself, experience your own emotions, he is treating you as a true equal, a friend…And the best men cook for you.