Quotes About Emotions

And it's stupid to have rules about how long you're allowed to cry and when you're supposed to flip a switch and stop crying. You can't even think. All you can do is feel. So how the heck are you supposed to follow rules?

Connie threw back her head, opened her mouth and cried to the heavens, as every sensation built and exploded inside her, fireworks and waterfalls, starburst and throbbing heat.

You and Derek are good together," Vanessa added. She looked so sincere. Tianna wished she'd smirk or give her the slightest reason to hate her. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Vanessa was too genuine and good for anyone to dislike.

Jimena stopped in front of a locker near a floor-length mirror. "This one was Catty's," she said softly. A watercolor painting of the full moon rising over an ocean was taped to the front. A beautiful woman hovered behind the moon, her purple robe billowing into the starry sky behind her. The image was haunting. "Did she do the painting?" Tianna asked. "It's really pretty." Jimena nodded. "She was a good artist.

On having being just proposed to) 'Have you been thinking of this for long?' she managed jerkily, praying for the shock to recede so that she could behave a little more normally. 'Let's say it crept up on me,' he suggested lightly. That didn't sound very romantic. Muggers crept up on you; so did old age.

You can't fool a child. She would sense the lack of warmth between us, feel the resentment, and hear the silences . . .

After opening his concert with the American national anthem, Rubinstein stood up and told the audience that he did not see the flag of his own country among the dozens displayed in the Opera House. His next selection, he announced, would therefore be the Polish national anthem. As he played the stirring notes of "Poland Has Not Yet Perished as Long as We Live," the audience burst out in loud, sustained applause.

For the habitually reserved Englishman . . . concealment of his emotions is the first and cardinal rule of gentlemanliness and social grace," one Ko?ciuszko Squadron pilot observed.

He tried to ignore the feather of longing that tickled his heart. But it kept tickling. Because he hadn't quite made up his mind to stay here.

When you've loved somebody for a long time, and then it stops, it's akin to an amputation in that you go on feeling the cut-off part long after it's been taken away. All sorts of nervous and emotional impulses set out to travel to their accustomed stations, and when they come up against the new, raw barrier, they're carried through it by their own impetus, and only then, finding themselves shooting through empty space, do they dwindle and die away.

I put my chin up and tried to stiffen my upper lip, but found I didn't seem to have any muscles in it.

But there are, I was learning, different landscapes in the country of love.

For any true stickler, you see, the sight of the plural word "Book's" with an apostrophe in it will trigger a ghastly private emotional process similar to the stages of bereavement, though greatly accelerated. First there is shock. Within seconds, shock gives way to disbelief, disbelief to pain, and pain to anger. Finally (and this is where the analogy breaks down), anger gives way to a righteous urge to perpetrate an act of criminal damage with the aid of a permanent marker.

In the family of punctuation, where the full stop is daddy and the comma is mummy, and the semicolon quietly practises the piano with crossed hands, the exclamation mark is the big attention-deficit brother who gets overexcited and breaks things and laughs too loudly.

I always thought a laughing philosopher a much wiser man than the sniveling one (cmizdrenje)

Your face is marked with lines of life, put there by love and laughter, suffering and tears. It's beautiful.

Dear Mr. Argeneau,'" she began. " 'I haven't read Love Bites, One, but I will, I guarantee it. I just finished Love Bites, Two, and thought it was wonderful. Etienne was so sweet and funny and sexy that I fell in love with him even as Rachel did. He's my dream man.'" Kate paused and glanced up expectantly. "What would you say to those letters?" That was easy enough. "Etienne is taken." -Kate and Lucern

Humans are very attached to outcomes. We say we trust God but behind the scenes we work our fingers to the bone and our emotions into a tangled fray trying to control our outcomes. We praise God when our normal looks like what we thought it would. We question God when it doesn't. And walk away from Him when we have a sinking suspicion that God is the one who set fire to the hope that was holding us together.

Like a tree, a woman can't carry the weight of two seasons simultaneously. In the violent struggle of trying, she'll miss every bit of joy each season promises to bring.

Saying "I'm fine" to keep the peace, when we're really not fine, isn't honest. It may seem godly in the moment, but it's false godliness. Truth and godliness always walk hand in hand. The minute we divorce one from the other, we stray from soul integrity and give a foothold to the instability that inevitably leads to coming unglued.

Feeling the pain is the first step toward healing the pain. The longer we avoid the feeling, the more we delay our healing. We can numb it, ignore it, or pretend it doesn't exist, but all those options lead to an eventual breakdown, not a breakthrough.

When we have the same thought again, the line of the original thought is deepened, causing what's called a memory trace. With each repetition the trace goes deeper and deeper, forming and embedding a pattern of thought. When an emotion is tied to this thought pattern, the memory trace grows exponentially stronger.

If they make the choice to walk over me rather than walk with me, I'll have to love them from afar.

If the enemy can isolate us, he can influence us. And his favorite entry point of all is through our disappointments