Quotes About Emotions

Unique feelings are so unique that they can not be popularized. Feelings without words in the dictionary disappear. Every year thousands of feelings disappear for lack of a concrete form.

Feelings demand living space.

Who in the world has not yearned for a loved one, has never said, If only he or she could come back just once, just one more time...? Despite the fact that it can never happen, never ever. Surely this is the saddest thing about our mortal world, and its sadness will go on shrouding human life like a blanket of fog until its final extinction.

Shiny musical instruments wailed, their mouths open like lilies.

The mirror had broken into millions of pieces and the wind blew them all over the world. If a person got a speck in their eye, the person would only see the ugly side of things from then on, but if a piece got in their blood and it reached their heart, it would freeze into a solid block of ice and they couldn't feel anything anymore

I heard you laughing,' Jack said. He wanted to say something about the quality of that terrible laughter, but he did not know how to begin. So he said, ' I've never heard anyone laugh like you do.

It came to me then, like a chilly draught from an unseen gap, that I had always known in my deepest heart that it would be like this, a slipping away from a life full of people I had come to love, in a place I had helped to shape, in a land I had helped to free.

True sorrows do not pass like clouds or inclement weather...Sorrows are absorbed over time, and you reshape yourself around them. How you absorb them makes you what you are for good or ill. I think the only true and right way is to take our sorrows into us bravely and wholly, knowing they will hurt, and accepting that sometimes pain is unavoidable. It is when grief is suppressed or hidden that it does harm

You simply can't make someone love you if they don't. You must choose someone who already loves you. If you choose someone who does not love you, this is the sort of love you must want.

Little children, headache; big children, heartache.

we can not love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes along its own trajectory and immediately disappears.

We all have a secret wound which we are fighting to avenge.

Perhaps it is this story that is a bridge over the void, and as it advances it flings forward news and sensations and emotions to create a ground of upsets both collective and individual in the midst of which a path can be opened while we remain in the dark about many circumstances both historical and geographical. I clear my path through the wealth of details that cover the void I do not want to notice and I advance impetuously...

When the olfactory alphabet, which made them so many words in a precious lexicon, is forgotten, perfumes will be left speechless, inarticulate, illegible.

It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices.

È per smaltire un carico di nostalgia che sei andato tanto lontano!

we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears.

Desires are already memories.

Gridò, se si può dir che gridi chi parla senza emetter quasi suono ma con tutta la sua forza.

Are you depressed or euphoric? The house, in its wisdom, seems to have taken advantage of your moments of euphoria to prepare itself to shelter you in your moments of depression.

Haces bien en estar celoso. Pero tú pretendes someter los celos a la razón. –Claro: así los hago más eficaces. –Tú razonas demasiado. ¿Por qué se razona con el amor? –Para amarte más. Cualquier cosa, si se hace razonando, aumenta su poder.

El amor se reanudaba con una furia similar a la de la pelea. Era, en realidad, la misma cosa, pero Cósimo no entendía nada. –¿Por qué me haces sufrir? –Porque te amo. Ahora era él quien se enfadaba. –¡ No, no me amas! Quien ama quiere la felicidad, no el dolor. –Quien ama quiere sólo el amor, aun a costa del dolor. –Me haces sufrir adrede, entonces. –Sí, para ver si me amas.

I desideri sono già ricordi.

he continues coming to this café every evening to see her, to open the old wound again, perhaps also to know who is walking her home this evening; and she comes to this café every evening perhaps deliberately to make him suffer, or perhaps hoping that the habit of suffering will become for him a habit like any other, that it will take on the flavor of the nothingness that has coated her mouth and her life for years.