Quotes About Emotions

I'll still be missing you as much as ever. I'l still smile at the memory of you. I'll still be - Okay, I'll say it again - loving you, but I won't abandon myseld for you. I cannot be faithful to you without being faithful to myself.

She laughed when there was no joke. She danced when there was no music. She had no friends, yet she was the friendliest person in school.

If we are destined to be together again, be happy to know you'll be getting the real me, not some blubbering half me.

Events become feelings, feelings become events

He tapped my chest. 'Happy is here.' He tapped his own chest. 'Here.' I looked down past my chin. 'Inside?' 'Inside.' It was getting crowded in there. First angel. Now happy. It seemed there was more to me than cabbage and turnips.

And smiles to go before I weep, And Smiles to go before I weep.

I could feel a million reasons, but there were no words to express them.

Every day I hold my breath until I see her. Sometimes in class, sometimes in the hallway. I can't start breathing until I see her smile at me. She always does, but the next day I'm always afraid she won't. At lunch I'm afraid she'll smile more at BT than at me. I'm afraid she'll look at him in some way that she doesn't look at me. I'm afraid that when I go to bed at night I'll still be wondering. I'm always afraid. Is that what love is - fear?

Events become feelings, feelings become events. Head and heart are contrary historians.

Okay, so you're not perfect. Who is? Sure, Susan makes sense. But my heart doesn't care about sense. My heart never says: _Why?_ Only: _Who?_

I understood. I suffered. But whose sake was I suffering for? I kept thinking of Señor Saguaro's question: Whose affection do you value more, hers or the others'?

And the more you love someone, the safer it is to be mad at them. Love can handle mad, no problem.

I'm that way, goofy as it sounds. Sometimes I don't want things to happen-I'm talking about good things, even wonderful things-because once they happen, I can't look forward to them anymore. But there's an upside, too. Once a wonderful thing is over, I'm not all that sad because then I can start thinking about it, reliving and reliving it in the virtual world in my head.

I did leave something behind with you: my heart. Of course, you didn't know it at the time. Maybe I didn't either. What have you done with my heart, Leo? Have you taken good care of it? Have you misplaced it?

But feelings, they don't care about telling. They just go right on, piling on top of one another like a big sandwich.

Now, my mother sniffled, WERE you abducted? Kidnapped? You mean did somebody snatch me? Yes. Well? Why would anybody wanna snatch ME? Megin. Just DID they? Did who? Who's THEY? ANYBODY! Snatch you? I laughed. Jeez no! And she grabbed me again and we cried some more.

What she saw, she felt. Her eyes went straight to her heart. The old man on the bench, for example, made her cry. The lumberjack ants made her laugh. The door of many colours put her in such a snit of curiosity that i had to drag her away;she felt she could not proceed with her life until she knocked on such a door.

I'm pounding and kicking him and I'm all me and I'm kicking and kicking into the face that's crying and begging for mercy, kicking, kicking...only for real, for cold ice real, it's not my foot smashing his face to a pulp, but my stick smashing the puck into the board, and it's not him crying, but me.

Whose affection do you value more, hers or the others'?

I was a smiler. In her presence I threw back my head and laughed out loud for the first time in my life.

in the book i'm reading (The Principal) the main chareter best friend has to go to a differnt school. I can picture them waiting at the bus stop together crying.

But those pictures and those moments are posed and smiling. They're not as real as this.

We walked in silence. Yellow blooms had appeared on a cactus, and for some reason that made me incredibly sad. The purple of the mountains flowed like watercolour. (P. 103) ~ Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli

Same old across-the-street Dorothy he had known all his life. And yet, somehow, not the same old Dorothy. Though she looked the same as always, Palmer had been seeing something else in her lately. Whatever it was, it registered not in his eyes but in his feelings, and was most clearly known to him by its absence in the company of anyone but her. It made him feel floating.