Quotes About Emotions

One thing they don't tell you bout the blues when you got 'em, you keep on fallin' 'cause there ain't no bottom," sings Emmylou Harris, and she may be right. Perhaps it would help to be told that there is no bottom, save, as they say, wherever and whenever you stop digging.

Sara Ahmed Happiness is no protection, and certainly it is not a responsibility. The freedom to be happy restricts human freedom if you are not free to be not happy. But one can make of either freedom a habit, and only you know which you've chosen.

Its happiness has been of a more palpable and undeniable and unmitigated quality than any I've ever known. For it isn't just moments of happiness, which is all I thought we got. It's a happiness that spreads.

Well then, it is as you please. This is the dysfunction talking. This is the disease talking. This is how much I miss you talking. This is the deepest blue, talking, talking, always talking to you.

Sadness keeps attempting to tie weights to her wrists and ankles, therefore she has to keep moving, she has to outpace it.

That's because they're of the past. All photos of the past look melancholy and wistful precisely because they capture something that's gone.

She sits there and feels the loneliness and the lack of him

She grows up, too, with the memory of what it meant to be properly loved, for what you are, not what you ought to be.

Ahora esa persona se ha perdido para siempre. Va a la deriva, no reconoce su propia vida. Está desamarrada, extraviada. Es una persona que llora si no encuentra un zapato, si cuece la sopa más de lo debido o tropieza con un cacharro. Las cosas pequeñas la deshacen. Ya no hay certezas, nada es seguro.

What are you supposed to do with all the love you have for somebody if that person is no longer there? What happens to all that leftover love? Do you suppress it? Do you ignore it? Are you supposed to give it to someone else? I never knew it was possible to think about someone all of the time, for someone to be always doing acrobatic leaps across your thoughts. Everything else was an unwelcome distraction from what I wanted to think about.

She feels it; he feels it. They know it and they know each other's thoughts and they sense each other's actions and fears. She does not know why this is or where it might lead, but she knows it must remain hidden, and silent as the tongue in his head.

Why is it that twenty-four hours in the company of your family is capable of reducing you to a teenager? Is this retrogression cumulative? Will she continue to lose a decade a day?

thinks, as she lifts the plates, to miss the pain and anguish of one person, if that person keeps quiet, if he keeps it all in, like a bottle stoppered too tightly, the pressure inside building and building, until—what?

Descubre que es posible llorar todo el día y toda la noche. Que hay muchas formas de llorar: lágrimas que se derraman de repente, gemidos hondos y desgarrados, el interminable goteo silencioso de agua de los ojos.

Pero ¿y si sus palabras no fueran suficiente? ¿Y si ella no es remedio suficiente para su dolor sin nombre?

Doktorlar?n koÅŸturmas?n? iyiye iÅŸaret olmad???n? biliyordum. Normalde duygular?n? belli etmemeyi öÄŸrenmiÅŸ, soÄŸukkanl? ve mant?kl? insanlard?. Fakat yüzlerindeki bu maskenin kayd???-telaÅŸland?klar? ya da seslerini yükselttikleri- an, kayg?lanman?z gerekirdi.

There is so much to do in a family of this size, so much to see to, so many people needing so many different things. How easy is it, Agnes thinks, as she lifts the plates, to miss the pain and anguish of one person, if that person keeps quiet, if he keeps it all in, like a bottle stoppered too tightly, the pressure inside building and building, until—what? Agnes doesn't know.

She wouldn't let them take Hugo. They had to prise him from her. It took her father and a man they'd got from somewhere. Her mother stood by the window until it was all over.

She discovers that it is possible to cry all day and all night. That there are many different ways to cry: the sudden outpouring of tears, the deep, racking sobs, the soundless and endless leaking of water from the eyes.

The knowledge of it burns the inside of her head, leaving black scorch marks.

Karen Blixen wrote, in her Seven Gothic Tales, 'I know a cure for everything: salt water . . . in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.

Maggie O'Farrell

and she picked up the glass from the table and she threw it to the floor, smash. I sat tight on the chair. She stamped her foot, like Rumpelstiltskin, and shouted, I will not go, I will not, you can't make me, I hate him, I despise him.

Peter had been feeling lately that perhaps he and Jenny had come to the end of their story