Quotes About Emotions

Here's the thing. You don't know my father. He's a stranger to you. All you see is a grumpy old man. He suppresses his emotions. That's what men of his age do. That's probably why he looks guilty to you.

even when the spotting finally stopped, I didn't believe I was having a baby. Even when every ultrasound was normal. Even when I could feel the baby kicking and rolling, even when I was going to prenatal classes, choosing a crib, washing the baby clothes, and even when they were telling me, Okay, you can push now, I still didn't believe I was having a baby. Not an actual baby. Until she cried. And I thought, That sounds like a real newborn baby. And

Instead of remembering grief and devastation, she remembered the terrible injustice of the cheesecake.

Janie eating. Janie sulking. Janie with her friends. Including him. That boy. His head turned away from the camera, looking at Janie, as if she'd just said something smart and funny. What did she say? Every time, she always wondered that. What did you just say, Janie? Rachel pressed her fingertip to his grinning, freckled face, and watched her mildly arthritic, age-spotted hand curl into a fist.

Even a really bad ordinary argument, where feelings were hurt, would be so much better than this permanent sense of dread. She could feel it everywhere: in her stomach, her chest, even her mouth had a horrible taste to it. What was it doing to her health?

But even while he is frustrated with her, or hurt by her, or plain irritated by her, he still loves her, he still has a secret crush on her, he is still awed that someone this beautiful is with him.

Early love is exciting and exhilarating. It's light and bubbly. Anyone can love like that. But love after three children, after a separation and a near-divorce, after you've hurt each other and forgiven each other, bored each other and surprised each other, after you've seen the worst and the best—well, that sort of a love is ineffable. It

I'm prepared to wait this out. I will wait for you to finish with him." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Have your revolting little affair and then give my husband back.

Joy and Stan used to exchange smiles as their ponytailed daughter glided back and forth across the court, when she was maybe eight or nine, back when she had a "funny little personality" not "a possible mental illness." (Joy never forgave the GP who wrote that particular referral letter.)

He hated Harry for dumping his father even more than he hated him for cheating.

She realized she felt ashamed, as if by separating from her husband, she'd done something slightly distasteful and seedy,

Sometimes it was exhilaratingly easy to be happy again. Other times they found that they did have to "try".

Sometimes she felt like she was always dragging the memories of these relationships along with her, like three old tin cans on a string.

The thought of separating from Jessica was like having his guts ripped out, but these days being married to Jessica was like having his guts ripped out. Whatever way you looked at it: guts ripped out.

Each time she fell out of love with him, he saw it happen and waited it out.

It made Alice sick with guilt when she thought about what they had put the children through that year. She and Nick had been so young, so full of the earth-shattering importance of their own feelings.

family life could be so dramatic

Grandmothers died. It was to be expected. You weren't even allowed to be that upset about it. Please don't let Frannie have died. Please don't let anyone have died. "Nobody else in our family will

I'm not going to stop worrying. I like worrying. I come from a long line of worriers. It's in my blood. I just want you to make it stop hurting, please, Dr. Hodges.

But then there were the other times, unexpected quiet moments, where they'd catch each other's eyes, and all the years of hurt and joy, bad times and good times, seemed to fuse into a feeling that she knew was so much stronger, more complex and real, than any of those fledgling feelings for Dominick, or even the love she'd first felt for Nick in those early years.

She had not realized that grief was so physical. Before Zach died, she thought grief happened in your head. She didn't know that your whole body ached with it, that it screwed up your digestive system, your menstrual cycle, your sleep patterns, your skin. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy.

What sort of daughter refuses to go to her mother's house? What sort of daughter speaks with such violence to her mother about buying a new recipe book? She

She wondered if it was similar to how people felt when they first took antidepressants and they lost their pain, but everything else felt muted too: flatter, duller.

There was no point saying, You mustn't feel responsible. Of course she felt responsible. Denying her regret would be like denying her loss.