Quotes About Emotions

Those with the deepest lows also have the loftiest highs.

My dreams were all my own; I accounted them to nobody; They were my refuge when annoyed - my dearest pleasure when free.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!

It is not true that women cannot keep secrets. Where they love, they can be trusted to death and beyond, against all sense and reason. It is their weakness, and their great strength.

Perhaps loneliness had nothing to do with place or circumstance; perhaps it was in you; yourself. Perhaps, wherever you were, you took your little circle of loneliness with you...

I smiled, knowing that Elizabeth, even in the worst of her humours, was far better suited to my own disposition. She would scold me, quarrel with me, torment me, tease me and laugh at me as often as may be. I was the happiest man in the world.

O time! thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie. —Shakespeare, Twelfth Night People require different amounts of time for grieving.

When I am dead and opened, you shall find "Calais" lying in my heart.

Imagination which comes into play in falling in love is different from any other. Certainly in my case, and I've fallen in love all my life, one imagines the person to be as you want them to be. They frequently turn out to be someone different, for better or worse.

She's also showing me behavior I've never even heard of, like passenger road rage.

If you are wise, you will never forget that your heart is yours alone. It can be the greatest gift, but never can it be commanded.

Her annoyance burned bright. Her neck was still warm and tingling where he'd stroked her, driving home how well he knew a woman's body. Yet he was displeased that she might know a thing or two about how to touch him. The arrogance of it all.

The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food.

Madness strips you of memory and leaves you scrabbling around on the floor of your brain for the snatches and snippets of what happened, what was said, and when.

You begin to forget what it means to live. You forget things. You forget that you used to feel all right. You forget what it means to feel all right because you feel like shit all of the time, and you can´t remember what it was like before.

I began to feel like I was wearing a sign on my forehead that said FUCKED UP in big neon letters.

Having a normal person around me made it poingnantly clear to me that I was out of control.

But new love only lasts so long, and then you crash back into the real people you are, and from as high as we were, it's a very long fall, and we hit the ground with a thud.

painfully curious...about how it feels to fall.

All of us carry around countless bags of dusty old knickknacks dated from childhood: collected resentments, long list of wounds of greater or lesser significance, glorified memories, absolute certainties that later turn out to be wrong. Humans are emotional pack rats. These bags define us.

I am mad. The thought calms me. I don't have to try to be sane anymore. It's over. I sleep

I relish my life. It's the one I have. It's difficult, beautiful, painful, full of laughter, passing strange. Whatever else it is, whatever it brings – it's mine.

You never come back, not all the way. Always, there is an odd distance between you and the people you love and the people you meet, a barrier, thin as the glass of a mirror. You never come all the way out of the mirror; you stand, for the rest of your life, with one foot in this world and one in another, where everything is upside down and backward and sad.

I write constantly, trying to avoid the dull pain of gradual loss, trying not to think about the fact that I am leaving soon.