Quotes About Emotions

Hurt feelings," said Lacoste. "I'd rather have a bruise any day.

Maybe every now and then he simply wept. Not in pain or sadness. The tears were just overwhelming memories, rendered into water, seeping out.

The memory of the heart was far stronger than whatever was kept in the mind. The question was, what did people keep in their heart?

FINE? Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical?

Their reasons are their own,' he finally said. 'I don't have to care.

Far greater than Gamache's anger was his caring.

Happy people didn't drink themselves to sleep every night.

Armand stood up, still holding Stephen's hand, and said, "It's time. Let him go." Then he sat back down, his legs weak. If this was the right thing to do, why did it feel so wrong? But no, it didn't feel wrong. It felt wretched. Horrific. A nightmare. But sometimes "right" felt like that.

We love life, thought Reine-Marie as she watched Ruth and Rosa sitting side by side, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving. Nietzsche. How Armand would kid her if he knew she was quoting Nietzsche, even to herself.

Myrna understood how damaging it was to compare pain. To dismiss hurt just because it wasn't the worst.

She threw great logs of 'I'm right, you're an unfeeling bastard' on to the fire and felt secure and comforted.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in using your head, but not in spending too much time in there. Fear lives in the head, and courage lives in the heart. The job is to get from one to the other.

Michael Brebeuf had long hated Armand. But he had loved him even longer.

No learning curve at all, marveled Gamache. But he realized Henri already knew all he'd ever need. He knew he was loved. And he knew how to love.

There's something about her, something bitter, that resents happiness in others, and needs to ruin it. That's probably what makes her a great poet, she knows what it is to suffer. She gathers suffering to her. Collects it, and sometimes creates it.

Why were there no words that felt? Words that when you touched them you'd feel what was intended? The chasm left by the loss of Madeleine? The lump in the throat that fizzed and ached. The terror of falling asleep knowing that on waking she'd relive the loss, like Prometheus bound and tormented each day. Everything had changed. Even her grammar. Suddenly she lived in the past tense. And the singular.

Clara rocked back and forth, back and forth, cradling her loss. Earlier in the day she'd felt someone had scooped her heart and her brain right out of her body. Now they were back, but they were broken. Her brain jumped madly about the place, but always back to that one scorched spot.

He sounded more confident than he really was. But Chief Superintendent Gamache understood that a leader could not afford to reveal his own emotions. He couldn't demand courage in others while quaking in fear himself.

The trial is about facts, but feelings are also a fact.

Chief Inspector Gamache knew one thing about hate. It bound you forever to the person you hated. Murder wasn't committed out of hate, it was done as a terrible act of freedom. To finally rid yourself of the burden.

I don't know, Armand. It made me sick. And sad. And glad I live far—" "From the madding crowd?" Vincent Gilbert smiled and nodded. "Yes. I peek out every now and then, then scuttle back to my little cabin, where I hope so-called civilization won't find me.

Chief Inspector Gamache knew one thing about hate. It bound you forever to the person you hated.

eventually that pain turned to bitterness, and the bitterness turned to anger, and the anger became rage. Until that rage became madness.

enamorarse. «Ya no existe la soledad.»