Quotes About Emotions

Jess's feelings about Leslie's father poked up like a canker sore. You keep biting it, and it gets bigger and worse instead of better.

She jerked to life, her eyes wide open. "Why did that woman give me away?" Then it all began to pour out. Why had she been given away? We'd never told her she was a foundling.

Cows...weren't like people, with feelings of lonesomeness and worrying about what might happen next. That was just people, wasn't it? Sure, you could scare a cow, but wouldn't they get over it as soon as you let them be? They didn't stand around fretting about the next scare and the next and the next.

Es bonito que alguien te adore. Aunque en ocasiones es incómodo.

Jess vio cómo su padre detenía la camioneta y se inclinaba a abrir la puerta para que May Belle pudiera subir. Se volvió. Pequeña con suerte. Ella podía correr tras él y cogerle y besarle. Jess sentía un dolor por dentro cuando veía a su padre subir a las pequeñas en sus hombros o se agachaba para darles un abrazo. Le parecía que creían que era demasiado grande para esas cosas desde que nació.

We are not wise enough, we adults, to know what book will be right for any child at any particular moment, but the richer the book, the more imaginative, the more emotionally true, the more beautiful the language, the better the chance that it will minister to a child's deep, inarticulate fears.

For the first few seconds, Jess kicked and struggled against the strong arms. Then Jess gave himself over the numbness that was buzzing to be let out from the corner of his brain. - Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Patterson

How do you unlove somebody?

All right, all right, he said, with that gesture I'd come to hate: two open palms facing me and patting the air, as if pushing me away, pushing me down, pushing any tears I might be preparing to cry back into their ducts.

Then the feeling passed and I felt all right. I loved them both, but neither Abe nor my mother had any purchase on me. They could say what they liked, and I would love them still, but I would not change my behavior, would not change my mind.

Among the men, only Whit kept his face clean-shaven; how he did it in the absence of privacy and clean water, I'll never know. I also knew that our major kept up a strong front during the day, his cheer unflagging, but wept uncontrollably while asleep in his funkhole.

All right, all right," he said, with that gesture I'd come to hate: two open palms facing me and patting the air, as if pushing me away, pushing me down, pushing any tears I might be preparing to cry back into their ducts.

My older brother never came to visit me. He did write me letters, though: distant and condescending ones, because those were the shallow pools in which his small mind swam.

As I walk out, the music on the stereo starts to affect me the way music only does when I've been drinking: I suddenly want to say I love this song to everything that comes on, and I start hearing messages that seem meant just for me.

Smells are custodians of memories.

I could feel my anger dissipating as the miles went by--you can't run and stay mad!

calipers. Mary had never had the heart to

To be unloved is not easy.

He played for over an hour, and I felt a peace steal over my soul, and yes, I felt the bruises in my heart. But to be bruised is to be human, to be coursing with blood. For bruises are caused by blood spilled under the skin. They are the tears that bleed inside.

Silence was like dirt, good dirt. You could dig into it. You could bury stuff in it. She could bury the longing for her mother in this silence.

It was as if the spirit of his first gyre and his last gyre had comingled. Why is the old wolf weeping? Why am I weeping? - Foalan, Star Wolf

All my life I've dreamt dreams that, after the initial dreaming, stayed with me and kept telling me how to perceive and consider all that happens to me. Dreams run through my skin and veins, coloring all that lies beneath.

Those who wake at this hour feel a lonely separation from everyone but night birds and ghost crabs, never imagining the legion of kindred souls scattered in the darkness, who stare at ceilings and pace floors and look out windows and covet and worry and mourn.

Wives were not supposed to hate their husbands. It was not in the proper order of things.