Quotes About Emotions

But she loves her daughter, David can tell, loves her the way David's mother loved him, and sometimes David feels that same love he used to, except now it's coming from other places, other people, and it's a good thing the love is coming because he's beginning to think there aren't enough rules in the universe to bring his mother back.

I kept getting high to kill my shame at the fact that I kept getting high.

it's not what people do, it's what they don't tell you they do. That's what hurts. That's what you think about when the television signs off and you're still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Can you understand this? Shooting dope is all about getting warm and fuzzy. Dependably so. But the Daddy-rush... Forget about it! I've never felt anything so terrifying! It's so real, even the pleasure can break your heart. Which, in the grand scheme of things, is what separates shooting smack from loving your little girl. Heroin may kill you, but it'll never break your heart. Not like a child.

It's different to miss somebody when they're still alive. When they die it's like, 'Okay, I'm sad.' You're supposed to be sad. When they just go away, when they disappear, that's a different thing.

My cynicism continuously undermines her faith in her own ability to master her moods.

Sometimes we found photographs of beautiful young girls, or handsome young men. There were pictures of old men, who looked like apostles, and old ladies with faded smiles. In some, one could see children playing in a park, babies crying, or newlyweds kissing. On the reverse of these were some farewells, oaths, or religious passages scribbled in handwriting obviously shaken by fear or the motion of the train. The words were often washed off by the morning dew or bleached out by the sun.

I write when I feel like it, and I feel like it most of the time.

Was it contagious, the emptiness I felt? Was he worried he'd catch it?

I hadn't meant to tell her the last bit. Sometimes Mom was fine taking in that much information. But then there were the other times. I could see her tumblers working. Her face had gone slack. The back of my neck grew cold waiting to see which version was going to erupt. But finally, happily, the correct words dropped into place, and out rolled a perfectly normal sentence. "Wonderful! Your dad and I will come see you girls play." Did she know she was lying?

listen without telling you to appreciate the attention? Be happy. The guy likes you. "You don't want to burn it all up

The woman rolled her eyes so loud I could hear it.

In my experience, the more aggressive a woman is, the less guilty she seems. Or maybe it's the guiltier an aggressive woman is, the less rational she becomes. That's a hard thing to judge from the inside.

I didn't know what to think, so I thought everything, my brain a blur, thoughts a big, fat green crayon scribbling to black.

With Mom, what went up must come down, and it was a mystery what exact combination would make life too much for her.

Most certainly not. Why face this with honesty and directness? It is so much more fun to dance around the truth, dodge the reality of the situation, which is that you are in love with this man, you share some kind of unhappy past with him...and that he has feelings for you, as well. Why would you ever wish to deal with that head on?

He laughed, but his face was unreadable as he looked at her titles. "Ah, a collection from Sir Walter Scott. Very nice, I've always liked his poetry. Sense and Sensibility, but surely you have read this one." She nodded after a moment. "Y-Yes. It is one of my favorites. I only rather liked this binding." He held his gaze on her for a moment and then nodded.

Weren't movies his generation's faith anyway--its true religion? Wasn't the theater our temple, the one place we enter separately but emerge from two hours later together, with the same experience, same guided emotions, same moral?...what was that but a religion?

the more you lived the more regret and longing you suffered, that life was a glorious catastrophe

Something about the memory caused him to tear up, to think again about the unknowable nature of the people we love.

You can't just say that, Pasquale. Those words have tremendous power. It's how people end up married.

Weren't movies his generation's faith anyway—its true religion? Wasn't the theater our temple, the one place we enter separately but emerge from two hours later together, with the same experience, same guided emotions, same moral? A million schools taught ten million curricula, a million churches featured ten thousand sects with a billion sermons—but the same movie showed in every mall in the country. And we all saw it!

I remembered his saying that I really only lived in the perceptions of others, and suddenly it seemed painfully true. I couldn't think of a time when I'd acted on my own, when I wasn't driven by my grief

Words and emotions are simple currencies. If we inflate them, they lose their value, just like money. They begin to mean nothing.