Quotes About Emotions

I have noticed,' she says, 'common men often love their mothers. Sometimes they even love their wives.

Men will tell you that they are so in love with you that it is making them ill. They will say they have stopped eating and sleeping. They say that they fear unless they can have you they will die. Then, the moment you give in, they get up and walk away and lose all interest. The next week they will pass you by as if they don't know you.

He wonders, why should my wife worry about women who have no sons? Possibly it's something women do: spend time imagining what it's like to be each other.

Men will tell you that they are so in love with you that it is making them ill. They will say they have stopped eating and sleeping. They say that they fear unless they can have you they will die. Then, the moment you given, they get up and walk away and lose all interest. The next week they will pass you by as if they don't know you.

The feeling around his heart—that it is crushed, forced out of shape—he now understands as a deformity caused by grief.

So, Lucile thinks, Gabrielle has the prospect of escape; but in her apartment at the rue des Cordeliers, she sits still and silent, in the conscious postures of pregnant women. Sometimes she cries; this chit Louise Gély trips down the stairs to join her in a few sniffles. Gabrielle is crying for her marriage, her soul and her king; Louise is crying, she supposes, for a broken doll or a kitten run over in the street. Can't stand it, she thinks. Men are better company.

I went back to the door of Georges's study and pushed it open. He and Camille were sitting at either side of the empty fireplace, not speaking, just staring into each other's faces. "Am I interrupting you?" "No," Camille said, "we were just staring into each other's faces. I hope you weren't discomfitted by what you heard when you were listening at the door just now?

The day is a fiesta of pain.

como le dijo una vez el rey con tristeza, sólo los hombres y mujeres muy pobres tienen libertad para elegir a quién amar.

But he thinks, no, none of us can stand anything. Scrape our skin, and beneath it there is an infant, howling.

Men will never understand it till they stop confusing love with sex, which will be never. (pp54)

Christophe says, 'You are not sad, sir?' 'No. I am not sad. I am not allowed to be. I am too useful to be sad.

There are people who find life hard and those who find it easy. There are those who have a natural, inbuilt, expectation of happiness, and there are those who feel that happiness is not to be expected: that is not, in fact, one of the rights of man. Nor, God knows, one of the rights of women.

think women carry this faculty into later life: the faculty for love, I mean. Men will never understand it till they stop confusing love with sex, which will be never. Even today, there are ten or twenty women I love: for a turn of phrase or wrist, for a bruised-looking ankle where the veins have blossomed out, for a squeeze of the hand or for a voice on the end of the phone. I would no more go to bed with any of them than I would drown myself; and drowning is my most feared form of death.

All Hallow's Day: grief comes in waves. Now it threatens to capsize him.

It shows how unaccountable men are, what they harbour in their souls: which by no means shows on their faces.

I truly believe I should be a better man if the weather were better.

Oh, Caddy," said Saffron miserably. "I know. It's awful. But I'm going. We all should." "It will be so sad." "You have to be sad sometimes," said Caddy. "Whatever Dad says. He may be right. Granddad probably had totally lost his marbles, but I am still sad and I'm still going to the funeral. I shall be as unhappy as I like and I shall where black.

Very helpful, I must say. Look at them in the eye and shout, and they understand every word..." (Mr. Warbeck in Sienna, talking about local Italians.)

He's an artist in London. We don't see him much." Tom gave him one of his quick, considering glances and asked, "Doesn't he live with you?" "No," said Indigo, finally saying out loud what he had known now for a long, long time. "Not really. Not anymore.

Sarah's father's shoulders began to shake. Tears poured down his cheeks. He took first one hand, and then the other, off the steering wheel to mop his eyes. He drove, weeping and groaning, at 140 kilometres an hour. Sarah's mother would not look at him. Sarah and Saffron stared, dumbstruck. Then it gradually dawned on them that he was laughing.

It is much easier to believe lies than the truth." "Why?" asked Janna. "Because lies are manufactured to satisfy the emotions. A mother would rather believe her pretty girl lazy than accept the fact that she's a dumb cluck. Germans would rather believe they were stabbed in the back than that they lost a fair fight. And anyone would rather blame someone else for his misfortunes. The truth is hard. Don't fool with it unless you realize that.

It is much easier to believe lies than the truth." "Why?" asked Janna. "Because lies are manufactured to satisfy the emotions. A mother would rather believe her pretty girl lazy than accept the fact that she's a dumb cluck. Germans would rather believe they were stabbed in the back than that they lost a fair fight. And anyone would rather blame someone else for his misfortunes. The truth is hard.

But if they spoke of Bee, he believed he would not be able to bear it, and if they didn't, it might be equally terrible.