Quotes About Emotions

She cried a little, but only inside, because long ago she had decided she didn't like crying because if you ever started to cry it seemed as if there was so much to cry about you almost couldn't stop, and she didn't like that at all.

I can't hate for long. It isn't worth it.

Unless a man has pity he is not truly a man. If a man has not wept at the worlds pain he is only half a man, and there will always be pain in the world, knowing this does not mean that a man shall dispair. A good man will seek to take pain out of things. A foolish man will not even notice it, except in himself, and the poor unfortunate evil man will drive pain deeper into things and spread it about wherever he goes.

What do you mean, what's the matter with him? Nothing's the matter with him, everything's the matter with him, the same as it is with everybody else. He's just fine. He gets overwhelmed now and then, and he doesn't know how to say what he feels or means, so he cries and runs off a little, trying to find out where to go, for God's sake. Where can you go?

The second month is baby's social debut—the coming out of herself. She opens up her hands to greet people. She opens her vision to widen her world and her mouth to smile and make more noise. The feeling of rightness and trust developed during the first month opens the door for baby's real personality to step out.

More changes occur in the first month after birth than at any other time in a woman's life. It's no wonder that 50–75 percent of all mothers feel some degree of baby blues (the incidence would be 100 percent if males gave birth and fed babies).

So when Mother goes away, baby feels that the one person who can make him feel right has completely disappeared, perhaps forever. Baby just can't hang on to a mental picture of Mother to reassure himself, and he can't understand the concept of time, so "Mom will be back in an hour" means nothing to him.

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.

And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud For grief is proud an't makes his owner stoop

Let me be cruel, not unnatural; I will speak daggers to her, but use none. My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites: How in my words somever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent!

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.

The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief: He robs himself that spends a bootless grief

Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.

How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face

Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.

Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

With one auspicious and one dropping eye,With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,In equal scale weighing delight and dole.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,Sing all a green willow;Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,Sing willow, willow, willow.

I'll queen it no inch further,But milk my ewes and weep.

I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth.

Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd.