Quotes About Emotions

What I think is that there is no perspective in grief, or in love. How can there be, when one person becomes the center of the universe - either because he has been lost or because he has been found?

I wouldn't know what being in love felt like if it hit me in the face

Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow -- beautiful while it's there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink.

Scars are just a treasure map of pain we've buried too deep to remember.

We are all just canvases for our scars.

When you fall in love, it's because you find someone who fills all your empty spaces. When you fall out of love, it's because you realize that you're both broken.

I think my heart can't possibly hurt any more than it already does.

My sister's in pain, and I'm relieved. What does that say about me?

Betrayal was a stone beneath the mattress of the bed you shared, something you felt digging into you no matter how you shifted position. What was the point of being able to forgive, when deep down, you both had to admit you'd never forget?

Love was supposed to move mountains, to make the world go round, to be all you need, but it fell apart at the details.

sometimes words are not big enough to contain all the feelings you are trying to pour into them. My

She had nothing left inside. She'd given it all to her son. And that was the greatest heartbreak of all—no matter how spectacular we want our children to be, no matter how perfect we pretend they are, they are bound to disappoint. As it turns out, kids are more like us than we think: damaged, through and through.

Sometimes, ridiculously, the more perfect he was the angrier she got, as if his generosity existed only to highlight her own selfishness.

History isn't about dates and places and wars. It is about the people who fill the spaces between them.

Then you're the one. Allie blinked at him. The one what? The one who loves more. ... You know it's never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It's always seventy-thirty, or sixty-forty. Someone falls in love first. Someone always puts someone else up on a pedestal. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sails along for the ride.

Do we grieve because the person we lost was such a light in the world? Or do we grieve because of who he was to us?

different readers. What is the point of trying to put down on paper emotions that are too complex, too huge, too overwhelming to be confined by an alphabet?

There it was, shiny and silver, pinned to the requisite position on his chest-a shield that covered his heart but had not been able to protect it.

But it is exactly because I was a writer that I could never do it. The weapons an author has at her disposal are flawed. There are words that feel shapeless and overused. Love, for example. I could write the word love a thousand times and it would mean a thousand different things to different readers. What is the point of trying to put down on paper emotions that are too complex, too huge, too overwhelming to be confined by an alphabet?

Dealing with an autistic meltdown is like dealing with a tornado. Once you are close enough to see it coming, there's nothing to do but weather the storm.

His stone walls are knee-high, not castle-worthy. They have large gaps in them for driveways and paths and grape arbors. And yet every time he drives past a property he's shaped with his own heavy hands, he pictures the parents sitting down to dinner with their children, harmony wrapping the table like mosquito netting as if literal foundations might lay the pattern for emotional ones.

This is what it means to be human, Bex thought. We are all just canvases for our scars.

There are three choices for a woman like me: 1) Be sad and lonely 2) Be the one who is cheated on 3) be the other woman

They both knew that jealousy could rise like a tide, erasing events that had been scratched into the shore of your memory.