Quotes About Emotions

He seems genuinely happy for me. You can't always count on a guy for that.

I've forgotten what gets revealed right after you break up with someone.

Then I understood how hard it is to re-create in words what you see and feel in your head. That's what I love about Bernhard in the book. He manages to simulate consciousness, and it's contagious because while you're reading it rubs off on you and your mind starts working like that for a while. I love that. That reverberation for me is what is most important about literature. Not themes or symbols or the rest of that crap they teach in high school.

She wraps an arm around me and pulls me in tight. 'I know how you feel. You know I do. It's good to get whacked open at least once, though,' she says. 'You can't really love from inside a big thick shell.

it scared me, the idea that this professional might go in and find that other person inside me, the person who was feeling all the things I did not let myself feel.

I hate old people. I hate anyone older than my mother, who didn't get to become old.

She seemed amused, entirely uninterested in changing him. He knew it was like that at first with anyone. He also knew it might mean that she didn't care about him at all.

That night at Gertie's when she asked me if I preferred to be the one who loved slightly more or loved slightly less.

moment about two months in, when you think you've finally got a handle on the place. Suddenly it feels within your grasp. It's a delusion—you've only been there eight weeks—and it's followed by the complete despair of ever understanding anything. But at that moment the place feels entirely yours. It's the briefest, purest euphoria.

For me and my true love will never meet again By the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

If I smiled at her she smiled back, and there were times I half pretended, half believed, she was my wife.

Jag gråter aldrig över Paco. De där två åren med honom tynger mig inte. Vi övergick från franska till en sorts blandning av den katalanska och den kastilianska som han lärt mig, och jag undrar om det är en del av anledningen till att jag inte saknar honom, eftersom allt vi någonsin sa till varandra var på språk jag har börjat glömma bort

I think about how you get trained early on as woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them. Sometimes you mix the two in a terrible tangle that's hard to unravel.

Gatan och husen med sina stora tomter blir alldeles suddiga. "Han bara sprängde mig i bitar. Jag vet inte ens var jag ska få tag i bultarna och skruvarna. Jag trodde alltid om det någon gång skulle bli så att jag inte höll tillbaka någonting utan blottade mitt hjärta ..." Resten lyckas jag bara få ur mig i form av ett kvidande. "Vilket jag gjorde. Jag gjorde det den här gången och det var ändå inte nog.

I told him the things that were coming back to me about my mother when I was little: her lemon smell

You get trained early on as a woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them. Sometimes you mix the two up in a terrible tangle that's hard to unravel.

Between our call and today he talked himself out of me, and now he is coming back around. I squat there and think about how you get trained early on as a woman to perceive how others are perceiving you, at the great expense of what you yourself are feeling about them. Sometimes you mix the two up in a terrible tangle that's hard to unravel.

I'm wondering how to tell him about Oscar. I want to know if it matters to him. IT seems like the only way to find out his feelings for me. It was easier to imagine doing this when he wasn't in the room, when he wasn't leaning over a table on his elbows, twisting up a chopstick wrapper with fingers that are unexpectedly familiar.

Silas leaves me a message, then another, and I don't call back. I've made my choice. I'm done with the seesaw, the hot and cold, the guys who don't know or can't tell you what they want. I'm done with kissing that melts your bones followed by ten days of silence followed by a fucking pat on the arm at the T stop.

How does a man in Mississippi in the 1920s create a character who feels more alive to a waitress in 1997, remembered with more tenderness, than most of the boys she's ever known? How do you create a character like that?

I think of all the people playing roles, getting further and further away from themselves, from what moves them, what stirs them all up inside.

Love, he thought. It would come out soon enough. Words and feelings were all churned up together inside him, finding each other like lost parts of an atom. He didn't try to push them apart or away. He let them float in the new fullness in his chest.

Did he know? Of course he didn't. But for so long now when someone asked how she was they loaded it with pity and braced themselves for her reply, as if she had the power to hurt them with the truth.

No escribo porque tenga algo que contar. Escribo porque si no lo hago, todo empeora mucho más.