Quotes About Emotions

There were the endless birthday nights and New Year's Eves of just you in your bed and no one else. There was the welling up at weddings, the glittery eye-prick, when all the couples would get up to dance. Sometimes it felt like your heart was crazed with cracks like your grandmother's old saucers. Sometimes the sight of a Saturday afternoon couple laughing in a park would splinter it completely.

You know in this moment that Gabriel is at your mercy, you can do what you want, he is completely yours and with the knowledge of that something goes,you can feel it slip from you like a fish through the net.

He] starts to talk and stops, feeling his way, as if it's all clogged up rusty inside.

I want to be clear about this. If you wrote from experience, you'd get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy.

Don't want to be near you for the thoughts we share but the words we never have to speak.

I've not learned the acceptable way of saying you fascinate me...I've not even learned how to say I like you without frightening people away-

If you don't understand yourself you don't understand anybody else.

Trauma is a memory hog, It gobbles up all available space in the brain, leaves little room to mark daily happenstances, or even routine injuries which are less than life-threatening.

Look around. Take the tour. Fear hangs on the wall and shame sometimes. Emotional dislocation too. But I am brave in my admission. Are you? When no one is looking, I check to see if anyone seems as scared as me, or lonely, or shy, or insecure. Is it just me? I'm not so sure. Is your heart an onion too? Show me yours, I'll show you mine we used to say. Your turn. Peel away.

Why let Angela call me something that I'm not? Or let her tease me? Bad enough the kids at school kick my heart around

I was so happy every morning when I woke up that I was pissing smiley faces.

Sometimes I think I should just buy a blow-up party doll. Same level of intelligence, plastic, and full of air. The problem is, I'd probably fall in love.

I do not think there is any thrill that can go through the human heart like that felt by the inventor as he sees some creation of the brain unfolding to success . . . Such emotions make a man forget food, sleep, friends, love, everything.

Countless as the sands of the sea are human passions.

What is stronger in us — passion or habit? Or are all the violent impulses, all the whirl of our desires and turbulent passions, only the consequence of our ardent age, and is it only through youth that they seem deep and shattering?

Everywhere across whatever sorrows of which our life is woven, some radiant joy will gaily flash past.

But there is nothing enduring in the world, and therefore even joy in the second minute is already not as acute as in the first; in the third minute it becomes still weaker and finally merges unnoticeably with the usual condition of the soul, as a circle on the water, caused by the fall of a pebble, finally merges with the smooth surface.

And could a man sink to such triviality, such meanness, such nastiness? Could he change so much? And is it true to life? Yes, it is all true to life. All this can happen to a man. The ardent youth of today would start back in horror if you could show him his portrait in old age. As you pass from the soft years of youth into harsh, hardening manhood, be sure you take with you on the way all the humane emotions, do not leave them on the road: you will not pick them up again afterwards!

But nothing is permanent in this world. Joy in the second moment of its arrival is already less keen than in the first, is still fainter in the third, and finishes by coalescing with our normal mental state, just as the circles which the fall of a pebble forms on the surface of water, gradually die away.

Leave me alone! Why do you insult me?" and in those heart-rending words he heard others: "I am your brother.

I think that it is one of the most refined joys of this world to interchange thoughts, feelings, and impressions." (H'm!

Entre las penas con que nuestra vida está tejida, luce siempre un chispazo de alegría.

Really it tires one to hear you. How come you always to be so cheerful?" "And how come YOU always to be so gloomy?" retorted the host. "How, you ask? Simply because I am so.

for there is no greater torment for a man than to desire revenge and be unable to get it.